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-4 

“>VHY, FIDEL! MES. GIUSUOM ” HE CKIEl), JOYFUEEV, WiTH OUTSTRETCHED 

HAND . , , ; 


A FIERY SWORD 




Elizabeth Whitaker Rennie 




THE " 

SLbbcy Press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 
London NEW YORK 


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honor ESS, 

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C!_AS«CX,VXo No. 

V^W D 
cory 9 1 


Copyright, 1902 
by 
The 

Abbey Press 


A FIERY SWORD 


CHAPTER I. 


*‘It was but friendship, dear, I gave to you, \ 

And you to me — as man might give to man — 

So sweetly calm its gentle current ran 
Adown our pulse, what little time we knew 
Its tender presence. Ah, how fast they flew — 
Those sylvan days — ’till Summer’s blush began 
To pale in Autumn’s. gray. Then 
Time’s full span 

Was flung across the year and dulled the 
Heaven’s blue. 

Do you recall how on the day’s glad wing 
We flitted? — saying: ‘Our Friendship is the 
best — 

Better than love — since pain with 
passion blends.’ 

Oh, friend! the day has grown a lifeless thing 
Without you, and the stars hang on night’s 
breast 

Like frozen tears! Surely, we were 

but friends.” 


It was one of those mild days in February, clear 
and bright overhead, the streets covered with a soft 
slush, the result of the nearest approach to a snow- 
storm known to the South. A tall, well-built man 
was hurrying along. His dark overcoat buttoned 
close up to the throat; a soft slouch-hat, a favorite 
style of chapeau with the typical southerner,- was 


2 


A FIERY SWORD. 


drawn well down over the expansive forehead and 
low-hanging brow. Evidently in deep thought, look- 
ing neither to the right nor left, his reverie was rudely 
interrupted by what came near being an awkward 
collision between persons going in opposite directions 
and simultaneously turning a corner at a certain 
angle. 

“I beg your pardon, madam!” lifting his hat he 
bowed with courteous astonishment. Then with a 
sudden smile of recognition, as he met another pair 
of eyes as abruptly startled: “Why, Fidel — I” check- 
ing himself, “Mrs. Griscom!” he cried, joyfully, with 
outstretched hand, a gleam of pleasure lighting up 
the deep-set eyes of a hue so black the iris twinkled 
like stars in wells of darkness. “I certainly did not 
expect to encounter you this afternoon — not so forci- 
bly at any rate.” 

Laughing still, he stood hat in hand with bared 
head and uplifted brow, the deep furrows on which 
betokened the thinker rather than one of an irritable 
disposition. The face bore evidence of unusual 
strength of character; the chin a firmly moulded one 
beneath the closely cropped beard; the hair dark 
brown and silky, in the abundance of which no streaks 
of white were yet to be seen. 

Fidelia eyed him silently, quizzically, for a mo- 
ment. “Well,” smiling, “I am very glad to have met 
you — I wanted to see you, particularly;” and raising 
her veil she looked at him expectantly. 

“How is Mr. Griscom?” kindly. “I hope his 


A FIERY SWORD. 


3 


health has much improved? It seems long since I 
heard of you — my time” in slightly apologetic tones, 
‘‘has been so fully occupied of late.” 

“Thank you. I regret to say he is in his usual 
way — sometimes feeling better, and sometimes worse.” 

“I am afraid this climate is too enervating. He 
really needs a dryer and more bracing air.” 

“Yes; I know,” sighing, “but a change at present 
is beyond the limit of our purse. So long as his 
health enables him to work he does not like to leave 
the city on the uncertainty of securing another posi- 
tion elsewhere — but” impatiently, “that is not what 
I wanted to say to you.” With a pleading, wistful 
look she dropped her veil and abruptly asked him to 
accompany her a little ways. 

Silently he turned back, accommodating his pace 
to hers. The sad expression on her mobile face 
grew radiant for a moment. Then with a half-sigh, 
she asked: 

“ Why do I never see you now? ” the words com- 
ing spontaneously from lips pale with emotion. 
“What have I done that I am denied the privilege of 
your counsel and advice? You know” — in half-im- 
ploring, half-reproachful tones, “of my struggle to 
perfect myself in literary work, and how I hope for 
your help and depend upon your comment and criti- 
cism more than any other. Something must be 
wrong! Tell me?” the tears slowly filling her eyes. 

“ Quiet yourself, I pray you, my dear Mrs. Gris- 
com!” He spoke soothingly. “Remember we are 


4 


A FIERY SWORD. 


on the public thoroughfare. Let us walk up the 
avenue? it is less crowded.” 

Gordon Allerton meditated upon this unexpected 
arraignment scarcely knowing what to say next or how 
to begin. When she had grown calmer, he said: 

"‘You know, my dear Mrs. Griscom, that a mere 
acquaintance of two years ago has through a similar- 
ity of tastes ripened into a friendship that — ” hesitat- 
ing a moment as if in reflection. “Well, believing 
that there is many a one with latent capabilities dor- 
mant for want of some word of encouragement, some 
sympathy to arouse it into being, — it has always been 
a great pleasure to me to be of service to those whom 
I found willing to make the most of their opportuni- 
ties. In you I found not only an apt but an eager 
pupil, who needed but a word to convey an idea. 
Once grasping its meaning you required but little 
help to clothe the thought in most expressive colors. 
To say that I was pleased would but only imperfectly 
express my admiration. I was carried away — ” be- 
low his breath, — “ infatuated! ” Learning from your 
own lips much of your early life; its hardships and 
trials; I felt it my delight to encourage the germ of 
talent which I saw you possessed. I am gratified 
to know that I was not mistaken, but — ” abruptly,, 
“to continue this Utopian friendship would become 
too dangerous — at least for me.” 

Fidelia turned toward him with a look of astonish- 
ment. 

“You see,” he continued, “I am perfectly plain and 


A FIERY SWORD. 5 

outspoken in my reply to your question; and/' defer- 
entially, “I trust you are not offended.” 

Raising her eyes, she questioned with the inno- 
cence of a child: “What do you fear?” 

“ Oh ! ” he exclaimed, almost impatiently, “ you 
will not understand. Many another friendship of this 
sort has gone on confident of its strength, escaping 
the rocks of public opinion — ” 

“Oh, I see;” she interrupted, still looking at him 
with wide-open eyes, “it is the world's criticism that 
you fear.” Lowering her eyes she continued in a 
hopeless tone of voice, “ or, maybe, I am too socially 
insignificant? — ” 

“Stop!” he exclaimed. “You know me better. 
Don’t, I implore you, add the injustice of your last 
remark to my already burdened conscience.” With 
an effort for composure, “when I have felt that I was 
in the right I have never hesitated through any paltry 
fear of gossip to lend a helping hand, or give counsel 
when it was asked. Perhaps,” assuming a lighter 
tone of voice, “I may be afraid of myself. Seeing 
as in a glass darkly the probabilities of the future, 
honor cautions me to stop now, lest the mirage prove 
an ignis fatuus which to pursue means social and 
moral ruin.” 

Was there ever a woman so obtuse as Fidelia? 
Secure still in her affection for her husband, — which 
since his gradual decline seemed more and more to 
assume a maternal phase, — she was, through her am- 
bitious desire to accomplish something in the way of 


6 


A FIERY SWORD. 


writing and add to their small income, completely 
blinded as to the outcome of such an association, 
other than that which might arise from gossip over 
her seeing so much of Gordon Allerton. Knowing 
that their friendship was purely an intellectual one, 
countenanced and shared by her husband, in so far 
as he could follow their discussions, she believed that, 
her ambition being praiseworthy, she had the right 
to brave public opinion in continuing an intimacy 
which was so helpful. 

“Then” — she questioned bitterly, “am I to under- 
stand that you will watch with indifference the fire 
of intelligence you have so industriously kindled die 
out for the want of attention;” her voice trembled 
with suppressed feeling; “watch with pleasure the 
shattering of my dreams; the perishing of my fondest 
hopes and expectations. All of which you have 
taken such pains to stimulate!” catching her breath 
with a half sob — 

Beseeching her to control herself, he said sooth- 
ingly: 

“You are excited now; and you exaggerate mat- 
ters. But, see ! we are nearing your home — ” 

“I, ^exaggerated she broke in passionately. “God 
knows, I but tell the truth. Until I knew you I was 
intellectually starved — starved!” she almost shrieked 
the word. “My family and friends cared little for 
books — or knowledge of any kind, beyond that glean- 
ed from a weekly newspaper; or some magazine tell- 
ing them how to raise chickens; the best food for 


A FIERY SWORD. 


7 


ducks. Oh! that every-day humdrum-life on a farm!” 
scornfully, “sufficient land on which to raise potatoes ; 
a little corn. A cow and a horse or two. Day 
after day, the eternal monotony of rising at an un- 
couth hour in the morning to milk the cows! feed 
the chickens! cook the breakfast! wash the dishes!” 
With a smile, half-sad, half ironical; “What woman 
does not rebel at washing dishes? Then the beds to 
make; the dinner to get ready. After this drudgery 
if I had any leisure I was too tired to do other than 
glance through the ' home ’ column of such highly 
edifying literature for some little distraction. Do 
you wonder that I welcomed marriage? There was 
more leisure; true! But all my efforts met with 
indifference from my husband; and my outspoken- 
longings with words of rebuke and derision from my 
family. In fact, looked upon as the ravings of a dis- 
eased imagination. We were not in position to meet 
socially the better class of people — those with means 
and leisure for studying, who created about them 
an atmosphere I languished for. Then Gilbert’s 
health failing, we came South to try the effects of a 
warmer climate. For a time, my ambitions were 
laid aside — overshadowed by graver matters. Finally 
he secured a position and in the bright outlook for 
the future — spurred on with a desire to lighten his 
burden — I once more began to dream of accomplish- 
ing something. Meeting you, your interest and 
words of encouragement filled me with such hope as 
had never before found entrance to my heart. But 


8 


A FIERY SWORD. 


pardon the repetition of an old story — ” she paused, 
her eyes filling with tears, “And now — you, who 
have become part of my life — the best part; now, 
when I need you most, you turn away! Oh, it is 
more than I can bear!” 

Allerton said nothing. Suddenly the reproachful 
look on her face vanished. She drew her lips to- 
gether closely, giving her mouth an expression of 
repellant, almost cruel harshness as with a strong ef- 
fort she controlled herself. Holding out her hand, 
she said coldly: 

“Goodbye, Mr. Allerton. When it is agreeable 
to you to call, Gilbert and I shall be pleased to see 
you.” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


9 


CHAPTER 11. 

“A work or thought 

Is what each makes it to himself, and may 
Be full of great dark meanings, like the sea 
With shoals of life rushing.” 

Within the house, Mrs. Griscom’s attention was 
drawn to the parlor by sounds of what appeared to 
be an earnest discussion. Recognizing the voices, 
her face, now somewhat flushed with the excited emo- 
tion consequent on her conversation with Gordon Al- 
lerton, became animated with pleasure. 

She passed the door lightly and entered the room 
adjoining. Becoming accustomed to the artistic dis- 
order that prevailed here, which at first glance seemed 
attributable to negligence, the cozy comfort of the 
room appealed to one’s love of ease. A cheery fire 
burned in an open grate, its brightness reflected in 
the distant corners, flinging out its warmth in welcome 
to all who entered, inviting them to the comfortable 
old armchair — a veritable sleepy-hollow — drawn en- 
ticingly near. There was a profusion of books and 
magazines. A little desk placed near the window 
seemed on friendly terms with a straight and homely 
old-fashioned pine chair; its shuck-bottom covered 
with what looked a cushion of oriental coloring and 


10 A FIERY SWORD. 

rare design, but which was really made of small odd- 
shaped scraps of silk left from dresses belonging to 
generations back. The white pine floor, shining 
with frequent scrubbing, was covered here and there 
with home-made rugs. An old-fashioned “What- 
not” of spools strung on wire, its shelves loaded with 
books, occupied one corner; and a wide, comfortable> 
high-back sofa piled with cushions of various sizes 
and colors, filled another. To hypercritical eyes th^ 
room might have looked shabby and its furnishings 
homely and old, but its atmosphere suggested the 
love of books and refinement. 

Deftly passing her fingers through her hair, ar- 
ranging carelessly its luxuriance before a large mir- 
ror, which hung over the mantel-piece, she caught 
up a spray of white hyacinth from a nearby vase, 
tucked it under her belt and entered the parlor. 

Greeting her visitors warmly, she exclaimed: 

“Why, General Southmaide! Mayme, darling!” 
kissing her on both cheeks; shaking hands with Gen- 
eral Southmaide; smiling cordially from one to the 
other. 

“It is the unexpected that happens,” said General 
Southmaide. “As you probably know, I have been 
very busy the past month; out of town most of the 
time, attending court in the different districts. I 
have thought often, during the disagreeable weather 
that we have been having, of the warmth and bright- 
ness of your home and the pleasant evenings I have 
passed here. And dropped in as usual, without no- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


II 


tice, and” an affectionate smile gleaming from his 
dark-grey eyes, “found Miss Mayme keeping house.” 

“I am glad that you find pleasure in my little cot- 
tage, General, and be assured you and other choice 
friends are always welcome. How little would life 
be worth had we no friends in whom we could repose 
confidence — absolutely trust. There is so little of 
pure sympathetic humanity in this big, selfish world 
of ours — ” a half-audible sigh escaping her lips. Then 
assuming a cheerfulness she was far from feeling, “I 
have just left Mr. Allerton — on his way home.” 

“Why did you not bring him in?” asked Mayme. 
“There is a fascination about Mr. Allerton that I 
like, I cannot quite understand him — yes; I admire his 
independence ; his indifference to conventionality. 
Really, I think it is very seldom that we find our true 
mates in this world. Now I am sure that in their 
absolute disregard for the opinion of others Mr. Al- 
lerton and the little foreigner, Mrs. Ferrier, you know, 
would just suit each other. She is so unconventional. 
Prides herself on antagonizing propriety. While on 
the other hand, the slightest deviation would so upset 
Mrs. Allerton’s dignity that she would be ill for a 
month. I cannot fancy those two, Mr. Allerton and 
his wife, ever reaching a common level in thought.” 

“Very often,” replied the General, “our affinities 
live only in the ideal; and this explains so many rup- 
tures between men and tbeir wives. Not content 
with taking people as we find them, we place them 
on a pedestal and endow them with all the virtues of 


12 


A FIERY SWORD. 


a saint, and then are disappointed when the reality 
proves so different to that which we have idealized 
and worshipped in spirit.” 

Mayme laughed. “Fancy trying to idealize Mrs. 
Allerton !” 

“Really, Mayme, dear, you are becoming incorrigi- 
ble!” laughingly exclaimed Mrs. Griscom. “Do you 
not know that you are setting aside les convenances in 
discussing so generally the personalities of our 
friends?” 

“Well, we need a few personalities after the ex- 
haustive argument General Southmaide and I had on 
politics before you came in. Am I forgiven. Gen- 
eral?” as she smilingly looked up into his face. 

“Most certainly. Miss Mayme. I was afraid I 
was boring you with my schemes.” A slight feeling 
of disappointment tinged his words and left its shadow 
on his countenance. 

“Oh, not at all! General,” Mayme hastened to 
^l^say. “You know Josh Billings says: ‘A man is a 
" bore when he talks so much about hisself that you 
kant talk about yourself’,” and she laughed charming- 
ly, disclosing her perfect teeth. And then the color 
flamed into her face as she realized the literalness of 
her speech. “I — did not — ” she stammered confused- 
ly— 

“And that is what I have been doing!” amused at 
her discomfiture. 

“ Oh! No — no,” she cried. “ I have not wanted 
to talk about myself! I am the most uninteresting 


A FIERY SWORD. 


13 


subject in the world. There — there — !” raising her 
hands protestingly, as he essayed to speak. “No com- 
pliments solicited.” 

As she turned towards General Southmaide with 
a roguish sparkling in her eyes, she looked a tempt- 
ing morsel of femininity; a bit of Dresden in dainti- 
ness. Below the medium in height, with perfectly 
rounded figure; hair that glinted like golden flax; 
eyes rivaling the azure of the heavens in their blue- 
ness; cheeks with the coloring of a wild rose, and lips 
like the fresh sweet mouth of a baby. Altogether 
reminding one of a plump, rosy-faced child, rather 
than a demure young lady just out of her teens. 

“How is your new play progressing, Mrs. Gris- 
com?” asked the General, evidently desirous of chang- 
ing the subject. 

“Well,” broke in Mayme, “I hope the new one 
will be more of a success than the other.” 

“I beg to differ with you. Miss Mayme!” exclaim- 
ed the General. “In my opinion, it was the manage- 
ment that ruined the first one. The play, itself, was 
favorably spoken of by the critics; and abounding as 
it did in historic and dramatic incidents it was capable 
of unlimited scenic effects.” 

“Oh, thank you io much for your words of praise. 
General!” exclaimed Mrs. Griscom. “So many have 
said the same thing of it; and all of those invited to 
the first performance seemed to be pleased. I quite 
believe now that its failure was due to mismanage- 
ment. I hope to finish the new one by Fall, and will 


14 


A FIERY SWORD. 


then go to New York to see if I can dispose of it 
or find some one to take an interest in it financially — ” 

“Then you are going to New York to look for 
'Angels’ — that’s what they call the person who puts 
up the money?” laughed Mayme brightly. 

“Yes;” replied the General, “and let us hope for 
Mrs. Griscom’s sake that New York abounds with 
them. Although, I really cannot see why they 
should apply such an incongruous term to one who 
invests in a play?” 

“Perhaps,” said Mayme, “it is because they are 
angels in their simpleness — their lack of wisdom, to 
invest in something so intangible, so susceptible of 
failure as a new play. Depending as it does upon 
popular opinion, no one can foresee with certainty 
its end — whether the public will applaud or condemn 
it.” 

“You are right. Miss Mayme. Public opinion 
is a factor to be considered in every undertaking; as 
variable as the wind and yet as strong as the gale to 
crush down all who oppose it.” Turning towards 
Mrs. Griscom, “When you have finished I hope to 
read the manuscript.” 

“You are extremely kind. General! It will be 
of inestimable benefit to me to have you do, so and 
give me you unbiased opinion.” 

“ Is there such a thing as ' unbiased opinion ’ be- 
tween friends?” asked Mayme, “I can understand 
giving one’s unbiased opinion on the work of a 
stranger — but a friend’s? Will not some partiality 


A FIERY SWORD. 


15 

for the friend creep in and unconsciously prejudice 
our minds in their favor? Or will not a desire to 
spare their feelings soften the expression of our criti- 
cism?” 

“But I want you to read it over, General, as 
though I was an entire stranger to you — forget the 
writer and criticise it just as severely as you would 
any stranger’s work,” interposed Mrs. Griscom. 

“Rest assured I will do so, madam! — but how soon 
may I expect the privilege?” 

“I shall do my best to finish it before the sum- 
mer is over — indeed, I must hurry it as when you be- 
gin your canvass I cannot hope to trouble you with 
it. You are very kind as it is to spare your valuable 
time for such work.” 

“ That’s all right I ” exclaimed the General. “ I can 
always find a spare moment for my friends, and assure 
you it will be but a recreation.” 

“A considerable change from those dry and musty 
law books of yours. General;” said Mayme. 

“If I can ever be of service to Mrs. Griscom, or 
yourself. Miss Mayme, you know me well enough now 
to command me!” 

“Oh!” smiling saucily, “Quite like ‘a Knight of 
ye olden time.’” 

“Mayme!” cried Mrs. Griscom, protesting against 
the unconscious sarcasm in the girl’s voice, “You 
will never take life seriously!” 

“Now, cousin?” entreatingly, “You know I can 
be as serious as a whole room full of Quakers wait- 


l6 A FIERY SWORD. 

ing for the Spirit to move them when it is necessary — 
but, as I do not believe in looking always on the se- 
rious side of life, the Spirit is never long in moving.” 

“You are an unconscious little philosopher;” 
smiled the General. “It is not in human nature to 
anticipate the dark side of Life for long at a time. 
The bright side is always the most attractive. By 
the by, the ‘ Reverend ’ Carr has returned ; perhaps 
he has already called?” 

“No; not yet,” answered Mrs. Griscom. 

“That reminds me,” cried Mayme, “I have had a 
letter from Elva Longley. She is coming on a visit — 
I had almost forgotten to tell you. She will suit you 
exactly. General;” turning towards him with a mis- 
chievous gleam in her eyes, as she went on in an 
exaggerated style to describe her: “Tall and stately,” 
raising herself in her chair to her fullest height, “car- 
ries herself like a Princess; or as we would imagine 
some Egyptian Queen just stepped down from the 
frame of antique ages, with her chameleon-like eyes 
changing color with her every mood ; sometimes 
strong and dancing; again soft and downy as a 
feather. She both attracts and repels — oh, I cannot 
explain — but she really is charming.” 

“It seems to me” mused the General, “that there 
are at least two persons whom you cannot under- 
stand — Mr. Allerton and Miss Longley. I must be- 
gin to study them a little more closely.” 

“Please do not begin to study me. General!” 


A FIERY SWORD. I7 

“Will you not bear analysis, Mayme?” asked Mrs. 
Griscom. 

“Yes — ? but when we are conscious of being dis- 
sected into parts, and each part scrutinized under the 
microscope of critical eyes it is — well, rather embar- 
rassing.” 

“I am sorry I cannot promise you not to begin. 
I began that agreeable task — ” hesitating — 

“What a bad memory!” interposed May me, blush- 
ing. “One, two, three, four, five, six,” counting on 
her fingers — “six months, since I first knew you. 
How sad! to think one’s first impressions are so soon 
effaced — ” 

“Excuse me,” he rejoined quickly — “I had not fin- 
ished — I was going to say — a note of defiance crept 
into his voice — “the Sunday I came upon you sitting 
in the National Cemetery — ” 

“Yes — yes!” flushing with embarrassment at the 
thought of how he had found her, almost in tears over 
a girlish quarrel with an old playmate, whose friend- 
ship seemed to have assumed the right of expressing 
open displeasure — thereby revealing the hidden jeal- 
ousy of a stronger feeling — at her evident encourage- 
ment of the General’s attentions. “ A man ” — as he 
had contemptuously expressed it — “ old enough to be 
your father ”. To which she had retorted “ He is not ! 
Gray hairs are sometimes induced by ‘early piety’.” 

Noticing her embarrassment the General kindly 
changed the subject by saying: “Mr. Carr has lost 
none of his old mannerisms. He still has the same 


l8 A FIERY SWORD. 

warm smile; soft clasp of the hand, and nervous 
shrugging of the shoulders.” 

“I never liked him,” said Mayme. “Those little 
foxy, blue eyes frighten me — he never looks one in 
the face when talking; perhaps, that is due to his ex- 
cessive humility. That’s why we call him the ‘ rev- 
erend ’ Carr;” brightly — “ on account of his long black 
hair and sanctimonious ways, you know? And then 
he is always quoting the Bible at you. I detest — ” 

“ There, Mayme! You are drifting into personal- 
ities, again. We cannot have every one to our lik- 
ing — nor order them made as we would a garment. 
I am often conscious of my many defects, and wish 
I could overcome them. We must take people as 
we find them, and it is a poor specimen, indeed, in 
whom we cannot find something good. ” 

“Thank you, dear cousin; the faultless are life- 
less, I know. I stand rebuked, and feel deserving — ” 
“No — no;” hastily answered Mrs. Griscom, “not 
deserving! I know you too well to believe you 
would intentionally harm any one even in speech. 
I simply checked your thoughtlessness.” 

The affectionate friendship existing between 
Mayme and Fidelia, who was several years her senior, 
was elastic enough to permit many a little war of 
words without permanent injury to the feelings of 
either. 

Smiling at this little passage of arms between them, 
the General arose to take leave. 


A FIERY SWORD. I9 

“ But won’t you stay for tea? It is almost the 
hour — five o’clock,” persuaded Mrs. Grisconi. 

Promptly to the tinkling of the little clock on the 
mantel-piece, tea was brought in and placed on a 
small table near the window, by a good-natured look- 
ing negress, whose black face shone like ebony. It 
was Dinah’s pride that the tea-cloth and “ cheeny ” 
should be immaculate. Besides it tickled her fancy 
to wait on “ white folks what b’long to de quality ”, 
as she termed “Miss Delie’s” friends. Sometimes, 
as was the case to-day, when she was in extra good 
humor, she would add a plate of golden-brown waf- 
fles, powdered lightly with sugar, instead of the slices 
of bread and butter that usually adorned the tray — 
the slices were not always as thin as they might be, 
since Dinah could not see the advantage of cutting 
them so. “ Yo’-all has to eat jist twice as many!” 
was her invariable excuse when remonstrated with. 

“ This ^ afternoon tea ’ is an innovation in the 
South, and yet — ” offering his cup to be filled again, 
“ it is a mighty inspiring thing on these cold wintry 
days.” 

“ I think it breaks the time between luncheon and 
dinner,” said Mrs. Griscom, “ although most south- 
erners have dinner in the middle of the day, I be- 
lieve?” 

“Well, yes — it is an old custom; and the chains 
of habit are not lightly broken. I called at Mrs. 
Tompkin’s the other day;” setting down his cup and 
saucer — “What a lot of young men are stopping there 


20 


A FIERY SWORD. 


now — mostly from the North — all seeking employ- 
ment. Bright and active young fellows, too.” 

“What brought them down here?” resentfully 
queried Mayme. “ We have more sons of our own 
than we can find employment for just now. Can it 
be possible that the North is becoming over-crowd- 
ed?” 

The General looked thoughtful. “ So long as 
there is no check to immigration the same conditions 
will exist — and the masses will be idle. They are 
pouring in upon us by the Atlantic and by the Pacific. 
These from their life at home are immured to poverty 
and low surroundings — ^they step in and fill places for 
less money than our own laboring class can live upon ; 
consequently, there must be idle hands.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Griscom, “ and these same immi- 
grants will in ten to twenty years be our foremost 
nationalized citizens. Filling all our important gov- 
ernment positions. And, why not? They have 
every opportunity. With the right to vote on all 
questions of national importance — and with the thou- 
sands that are annually increasing their numbers, they 
will soon become the controlling element.” 

“ It is only too true ;” sighed the General. “ But 
then, he assented, “ our country is a large one, and 
they are necessary to its development.” 

“Well, indeed; I, for one, don’t think so!” put in 
Mayme. “ It would be the salvation of our country 
if many of our laws were reconstructed. And I 


A FIERY SWORD. 


21 


hope, General, when you go to Congress, you’ll do 
something — ” 

“ I am not there yet;” with pleasurable anticipa- 
tions. Smiling at her vehemence. 

“The world is sadly unhinged;” said Mrs. Gris- 
com, shaking her head at Mayme’s trite remark. 
“We are a very selfish people — millionaires are rapid- 
ly increasing, and yet the poor are with us always. 
The whole system is radically wrong.” 

“Yes, we all admit that;” rejoined the General, 
“ but where to begin to right matters is an unsolved 
problem. Were there to be an equal division of 
wealth, as the Socialists desire, within a few years 
it would again be in the hands of the few. There- 
fore, the first necessity of social life is, as Ruskin says, 
the clearness of national conscience in enforcing the 
law — that he should keep who has justly earned.” 

Mrs. Griscom thought a moment, “ You are right; 
and Ruskin’s ideas are just as timely for the present 
conditions as in the days in which he wrote them. 
I know,” she continued, “that Disraeli says: ‘that 
pauperism is not an affair so much of wages as of 
dwellings ’ but I am convinced that a want of educa- 
tion is the root of the evil;” earnestly. 

“ While the days have passed,” he agreed, “ when 
it was thought that to educate the masses made them 
discontented and rebellious against authority — admit- 
ting that education makes them more ambitious, 
strengthens their moral consciousness, inspires them 
with a true sense of honor, manhood and dignity; it 


22 


A FIERY SWORD. 


does not bring contentment. Those who throw oft 
the shackles of environment are the exception — but 
I fear I weary you and really must be going.” 

Oh, not at all ! I am sorry !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Griscom, “ and I thank you very much, General, for 
the expression of your thoughts on a subject that is 
deeply interesting to me.” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


23 


CHAPTER IIL 

“At the crossway stand’st thou! Choose!” 

Those who throw off the shackles of environment 
are the exception. 

. . /Those who throw off the shackles of environ- 
ment are the exception.” These words of General 
Southmaide’s, burned into Fidelia’s soul like the sear 
of a hot iron. 

“ Will I ever throw them off? Will I ever suc- 
ceed?” she thought. “ Are not the irons of environ- 
ment too heavy for me? No! I will rise above 
them; cost what it may!” And a hard, determined 
look spread over her face. 

After a prolonged silence, in which Mayme had 
sat weaving fancies of her own since the General’s 
departure, she exclaimed: 

“A penny for your thoughts, cousin Fidelia!” 

Fidelia sat with her face buried in her hands a 
moment and then said with a deep drawn sigh: 

“ Oh, how unhappy I am! You know I love my 
husband very dearly, but why does he not interest 
himself in the great questions of the day? Why — ? 
is he so indifferent to all things outside himself, his 
own little affairs — his music! Why does he not take 


24 


A FIERY SWORD. 


some interest in my work? He neither helps nor 
hinders. Either would be a stimulant — some show 
of interest.” 

Mayme looked startled at this outburst but re- 
plied calmly and with a dignity beyond her years, 
“ Mr. Griscom is the husband best suited to you. 
He passes in and out and never intrudes his opinion, 
— and with his whole, passionate nature loves you 
very dearly.” 

“ Yes, Passion! ” she cried bitterly. “ All physical 
passion! Never a thought that my whole nature 
craves for something higher. Oh!” repressing her 
sobs, “ I am starving for intellectual companionship. 
Oh, that it had been otherwise! This passion! pas- 
sion! I have been satiated with it all my married 
life. I detest it! I hate it! Oh! what shall I 
do?” and sobbing loudly she threw herself on the 
couch, burying her face in the pillows regardless of 
Mayme’s presence. 

“ Dear cousin, you astonish me beyond measure. 
This extreme emotion is a revelation. You must bear 
the inevitable — you are suffering now from mental 
passion, which if encouraged will become as uncon- 
trollable — unbearable, in after years as that which you 
shrink from.” And then utterly at loss and puzzling 
her brain for something to say that would stem the 
torrent of the other’s sobs, she said, cheerfully — “ that 
want of congeniality and taste that you miss in your 
husband’s society can be satisfied in the society of 
others — General Southmaide, Mr. Allerton; and a 


A FIERY SWORD. 25 

dozen others of your acquaintances without wronging 
Bertie in the least.” 

Spontaneous, but specious reasoning from one who 
was wholly unconscious of sophistry. 

As Mrs. Griscom continued to sob in the wildest 
unrestrained fit of hysteria, Mayme realizing that she 
had no power to control such a mood decided to leave 
her alone to recover from this collapse of nerves and 
dignity. 

.... With a white, drawn face, Fidelia arose from 
her recumbent position. 

Realizing the bitter truth of Mayme’s statement, 
she was constrained to think, philosophically, that, 
perhaps, her feeling on the subject of her husband’s 
apathetic attitude towards things that interested her 
arose from wounded pride, irritation, disappointment, 
and resentment. Yet her naturally high-strung ner- 
vous system shuddered with abhorrence and disgust 
as she recalled to mind the many years she had been 
subjected to the mere physical relations of married 
life. Little did she think that she was standing upon 
the threshhold of a phase of life that to enter upon 
would, in leading her higher and higher in the realms 
she longed for, estrange her still further from her hus- 
band and make her less submissive to what she had 
been taught was the foundation of marital happi- 
ness — living in subjection to the wishes of her hus- 
band; or that the path that seemed so clear and 
straight would lead her away from wifely duty. 


26 


A FIERY SWORD. 


Who knows? Perhaps the love that must go 
hand in hand with duty to strengthen one’s grasp of 
the right had never found lodgment in her heart; per- 
haps the affection that would have at one time seized 
his hand and drawn him with her away from the 
sordid, material side of life to the refined plane of 
the purely mental and spiritual, had weakened in the 
shadow of a stronger mind. Perhaps while her men- 
tal capacity had been aroused and strengthened by an 
almost daily contact with the strong intellectual in- 
fluence of another, the love that had never been a 
deep one was gradually dwindling, leaving in its 
stead a growing contempt for her husband’s limited 
mentality. 

Shortly after Mayme’s departure, Mr. Griscom 
came home from his office. A wearied, fretful look 
on his pale face. A man of rather low stature, slen- 
der physique, presenting neither a strong physical 
nor mental appearance. With his usual quiet de- 
meanor, he passed into the parlor and after the cus- 
tomary affectionate greeting to his wife, seated him- 
self weariedly in a large armchair and looked steadily 
into the fire as if in deep thought. A habit he had 
fallen into — whether retrospective, introspective or of 
the future no one had ever sought to inquire. Fidelia 
looked at him occasionally, her face darkening at his 
apparent abstraction. 

After casual remarks of no moment the tinkling 
of a tiny bell announced dinner. During this meal 



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A FIERY SWORD. 


27 


very little was said on either side beyond observa- 
tions on the weather and the prospects of more snow. 
At last, the silence becoming unbearable, Fidelia, who 
still showed traces of the intense emotion she had 
undergone that afternoon, made an effort to break 
the stillness by questions intended to arouse general 
conversation; eliciting only monoslyabic answers. 
She told him of meeting Gordon Allerton; the visit 
of Mayme and General Southmaide and the conver- 
sation which followed. All of which he listened 
to with no apparent interest and without comment. 
Absorbed in his own reflections he continued his meal. 

Rising from the table he embraced his wife fondly 
and going into the adjoining room took out his violin 
which he played with much skill. Soon the wearied 
irritability fell away from his face and the placid look 
in the large Junonian-like eyes was replaced by one 
of dreamy tenderness. The naturally sallow, slender 
face became spiritualized in its expression. He was 
lost in his music. Oblivious to the presence of his 
wife his soul seemed carried away in melodies entranc- 
ing. He played on and on, enraptured with the 
sweet strains that rose and fell upon the quiet of the 
room, now like the wailing of an imprisoned soul, 
now like the low murmur of the brook rippling away 
in its eagerness to lose itself in the great river. 

The warmth and brightness within was in strange 
contrast to the cold and darkness without. Not even 
the blinking of a star was visible through the heavy 
drawn curtains of night. A chilling east wind flung 


28 


A FIERY SWORD. 


its icy breath in the face of all who dared its elements. 
The few belated passers-by felt the cold in sharp 
contrast to the warm glow from the pink-shaded 
lamps that fell across their path. The mellow strains 
of the violin quickened their pulses with its sweet har- 
monies and filled them with envy of those fortunate 
enough to be indoors on such a night. 

The effects of poetry and music on the human 
sentiment are incalculable, especially with the female 
sex, for the life of woman in its totality is one of sen- 
timent. 

Fidelia sat listening. Artistic by temperament, 
it seemed that never before had his music swelled her 
soul with thoughts that lie too deep for tears ”. One 
by one, the bitter thoughts she had been harboring 
vanished — fell away like rain. Under the soothing 
strains her heart was softened. How could she have 
ever given voice to such expressions as Mayme had 
heard from her lips that afternoon — surely this was 
the awakening from some horrible dream. It was 
all too far-away to be real. Finally, her whole soul 
sensitively strung up to its highest tension, she sprang 
up from where she sat and kneeling down by her hus- 
band, flung her arms about him, burying her face on 
his breast. 

Gilbert laid down his violin and drew her to him 
passionately. Leaning over he kissed the bright 
gleaming waves of her hair. Noticing the tear-dim- 
med eyes as she raised her head, he drew the up- 
turned face towards him with both hands and kissed 


A FIERY SWORD. 29 

her eagerly on the forehead, on the eyes, the cheeks; 
the intensity of his feeling burning her lips. 

. . . .“This passion! passion! How I hate it! 
How I detest it! ” and as her words of the afternoon 
flashed like living fire through her mind, she flung 
his arms from her and sprang to her feet with a shud- 
der she could neither hide nor control. 

“ Ah . . . . !’^ she cried, with one long drawn sound 
of agony, as the veil of the past few months dropped 
away from her eyes, and she saw revealed the secret 
of her heart. “ This, then,” she thought, “ was his 
meaning, when he said that to continue ‘ this Utopian 
friendship would mean social and moral ruin’; this 
was why she felt that to give up his friendship would 
be to give up a part of her life. Oh! unhappy wom- 
an that I am. Have I — have I fallen so low?” — 

“ Fidelia! darling?” 

The startled tones of her husband’s inquiry 
brought her back to herself — her sense of Duty. 

“Oh, Bertie — dear, it is noth — nothing;” shiver- 
ing as if with a chill, “ only a sharp catch in my side;” 
and the ghastly drawn face gave evidence to her 
words. And then summoning all her strength — 
“for he must never know!” she mentally determin- 
ed, — a wan little smile crept into her eyes as he in- 
sisted on her lying down for a few minutes. “ I am 
better now,” she said weakly in answer to his tender., 
half-frightened inquiry. 


30 


A FIERY SWORD. 


The night of sleeplessness was passed by Fidelia 
in wide-eyed contemplation of the future. Gilbert 
slept peacefully by her side. This calm, serene sleep 
with absolutely no thought or knowledge of the storm 
that was wrecking her body and soul irritated her. 
At times she had a vindictive desire to jibe him — to 
wound him physically if she could not mentally. Why 
should she suffer such tortures and he be left without 
a scar? “ I would like to wake him up and tell him 
all that is burning my heart,” she thought — “ and see 
if that would arouse him?” His passivity exasperat- 
ed her more and more. His submission to the com- 
monplaceness of his daily life fretted her; and such 
thoughts as come only to the desperate filled her 
mind. She realized, though, that she alone had 
sinned — if her waking to a sense of danger could be 
called a sin. Her old-fashioned ideas could not all 
be shorn away at once and leave her in a satisfied 
state of mind. To love another was a sin, she told 
herself; her conscience was too freshly pricked to be 
easily silenced — it would take Time to dull its pain. 
How could she have allowed herself to drift into this 
quagmire? Why could she not have foreseen that 
this was the end — the inevitable ending of all Platonic 
friendships — 

“Oh, friend! the day has grown a lifeless thing 
Without you and the stars hang on night’s 
breast 

Like frozen tears! Surely, we were 

but friends?” 


A FIERY SWORD. 3I 

She choked back her tears determined to remain 
dry-eyed; to resist this feeling with all her strength. 
But could she — could they remain the same friends 
as before? Would not her love fly forth unbidden 
to meet — but stop! She did not know whether he 
loved her? He had foreseen the danger and had 
warned her. She was arriving at conclusions too 
hastily — almost eagerly, she chided herself. To 
think that this feeling of hers was reciprocated— oh, 
what happiness! What a heaven if he did love her 
as she loved him! What a union of love and intel- 
lectuality! A life idyllic in all its phases opened out 
before her vision — they could climb hand in hand 
to the highest pinnacle of Fame; should she stum- 
ble he would be there to raise her. 

And from the dizzy heights, to which, half-wak- 
ing, half-sleeping, her excited and fevered imagina- 
tion carried her, she viewed her life in rapid kaleido- 
scopic changes — one scene more and she awoke to 
consciousness; to the fact that her husband lay sleep- 
ing peacefully by her side. Down, down, down she 
fell, her feet touching earth again. And thus in a 
half-dreaming and half-conscious sleep — wearily de- 
termining to crush out of existence this new feeling 
by persistently refusing it recognition, and to take 
up her life on this new day just as she laid it down 
yesterday — the night wore away. 

Gilbert’s leaning over her with caressing tender- 
ness and the pressure of his lips to her hand as he 


32 


A FIERY SWORD. 


carried it to his cheek brought her into the full con- 
sciousness of a new-born day. 

“ Will you not rest awhile longer, darling? 

His tender thoughtfulness, as she wearily opened 
her eyes, heavy with unshed tears, and caught his 
loving, anxious glance, filled her with compunction. 
“He shall never know,” she determined; springing 
out of bed she laughed merrily at his fears. Did he 
ever know her to indulge herself in lazy habits? Her 
laughter and the bright tone of her voice sounded 
strange and discordant to her ear — “ she did not 
know she was such an actress? It was very encour- 
aging!” observing the reassured expression on his 
face. 

And her bright sallies sent him away beaming to 
his office. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


33 


CHAPTER IV. 

ye powers that search 

The heart of man, and weigh his inmost thoughts, 

If I h’^ve done amiss, impute it not! — 

'^he best may err.” 

As Gordon Allerton closed the gate after Mrs. 
Griscom and walked slowly homeward, he looked 
perplexed and worried over what had transpired dur- 
ing the unexpected, critical interview with her. All 
his life he had been plain-spoken and straightfor- 
ward in his dealings with men and women. But 
in this case, the situation was slightly different to 
anything that had ever confronted him before. The 
subject was a delicate one and he was nettled that he 
had not handled it in a more delicate manner. It 
was his habit to trace the logical sequence of events, 
but he had been wholly unprepared to meet the sud- 
den onslaught she had made upon him. It occurred 
to him that, perhaps, after all, he had been too hasty 
in expressing himself, and too severe. He had long 
been conscious of strangely conflicting emotions. 
At one time he was disposed to look upon the mat- 
ter as a foolish piece of business from the beginning; 
at another he was ready to congratulate himself on 
the intellectual pleasure he derived from such com- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


34 

panionship. His high code of honor and conscien- 
tious scruples made it impossible for him to continue 
what was becoming a dangerous pastime, especially 
since he foresaw so clearly its inevitable ending. He 
knew well enough that his friendly interest in Mrs. 
Griscom had become something stronger. And for 
the sake of his wife and children he desired to sever 
himself while he was yet strong enough from an in- 
fluence that was fast developing into a passion which 
would prove of too tough a fibre to break easily. 
Not only his head but his heart was enthralled. He 
saw quite clearly that Fidelia was not yet awake to 
the danger which threatened to engulf the happiness 
of both. 

Recalling her look of pain when he told her they 
must discontinue their frequent meetings, his heart 
leaped with guilty pleasure i i the knowledge that she 
loved him — although as yet unconscious of it. His 
cooler judgment tried to stifle this feeling by warning 
him of the necessity of opening her eyes to the moral 
catastrophe which menaced them. He felt that there 
was that in her personality which satisfied all his in- 
tellectual cravings for companionship and captured 
his heart with its enthusiasm. Determining not to 
yield to the desire, he argued long to convince him- 
self that he would take the same interest in any one 
else who was so eager for culture. Then thinking 
of his bright, clever children, he suddenly felt strong 
enough to stifle any feeling that was not purely one of 


A FIERY SWORD. 35 

intellectual interest in the woman who so absorbed his 
thoughts. 

Mrs. Griscom’s strong individuality had in the 
beginning of their acquaintance first attracted him; 
finding that she possessed a most fertile imagination 
as well as great aptitude for literary work — although 
her ideas were crude from lack of cultivation — his 
sympathies were enlisted. The avidity with which 
she seized upon every opportunity for improvement; 
her tireless energy and animation; was in such con- 
trast to the quiet, almost stolid, indifference of his 
wife, he had delighted in her mental advancement. 

Gordon Allerton was an interesting and entertain- 
ing companion. A man of intellect and refinement; 
with that wholly indifferent manner towards small 
things that is peculiar to men of large mind and wide 
interests. 

He had in life’s experience tasted alike the bitter 
and the sweet. The only son of an old English fam- 
ily he was spoiled somewhat in his younger days by 
the affection of an idolizing mother. He was still 
young in years when financial depression caused a 
breaking up of his home — took him away from Ox- 
ford where his warmth and geniality of disposition 
had made him a universal favorite with his fellow- 
students, and his steadiness of purpose and keen 
grasping of the problems of study gained the admira- 
tion and esteem of his masters — and sent him im- 
mature, undeveloped to the battle of the world. The 
death of his father, forcing upon him a realization of 


A FIERY SWORD. 


36 

the obligations of life, he stepped into manhood and 
its responsibilities in a day. 

Marrying into a north-country Scotch family of 
practical ideas he soon won for himself a responsible 
position in the firm in which his wife’s father was in- 
terested. For a time more vital affairs kept him 
awake to the hard facts of life — crowding out the 
dreams of his college days in which he had labored 
for the mental and moral advancement of those of 
his fellow-men less fortunate than himself. The 
failure of this firm sent him once more adrift; with 
time on his hands — and the accumulation of a little 
fortune — he determined to follow the chosen avoca- 
tion of the past. He travelled and lectured over the 
greater part of Great Britain and Europe. But find- 
ing this a precarious means of support and with the 
needs of a growing family, he drifted to the States. 
Here, again becoming absorbed in business, he built 
up a trade that soon commanded the attention of the 
commercial world; placing him upon an established 
financial basis. 

Once more possessing a comfortable home, he 
found that the pleasure of educating his children, a 
boy of four and a girl of ten, absorbed the restless- 
ness of a disposition that needed some outlet for its 
energies. These children seemed now to control 
the influences of his life. He felt that in them he 
had a safeguard against letting his affections wan- 
der. Resting upon the strength of this affection he 
lulled his conscience to sleep over his association with 


A FIERY SWORD. 37 

one who swayed him so powerfully when in her pres- 
ence. 

A man of varied experiences and broad liberal 
ideas, accustomed to act upon his own judgment, the 
world’s opinion gave him no concern. Believing 
that Mrs. Griscom was strong enough to carry her 
mental culture without the discontent and unhappiness 
which follows, should circumstances and social sur- 
roundings not keep pace with her intellectuality, a 
climax he had begun to fear, he decided that could 
she but carry her family associations with her in her 
progress he would be a most willing mentor. But 
if self-culture and the desire for social position should 
become the harbinger of ambitious discontent and 
unhappiness in a hitherto serene household, he would 
most assuredly sever their friendly relations, even 
though he sacrificed his own pleasure. And thus 
in the glorification of self-denial he beguiled himself. 

Just then, as if to strengthen his resolve, his eyes 
caught sight of Marjorie and Donald waving their 
hands from the window of his home; and before he 
could traverse the graveled walk they had flung wide 
the door in their eagerness to see who would secure 
the first kiss. Sometimes it was Marjorie. But 
she had grown too tall to be caught up in his arms 
and tossed^ up into the air until out of breath, as he 
invariably did with Donald. This part of the pro- 
ceedings pleased Master Four-year-old immensely, he 
delighted in the quick-catching of his breath, the 
queer sensation it produced in his stomach. 


38 


A FIERY SWORD. 


With both children clinging to him he walked 
down the long hall and entered the room where his 
wife sat busy with some knitting — for no matter what 
time of day you appeared, Mrs. Allerton was never 
without a ball of yarn and a half-finished stocking — 
an industrious habit she had acquired in the “ old- 
country Coming of eminently practical good old 
Scotch stock, she had been raised with the idea that to 
waste a minute of one’s time was “ sinful ” and that an 
idle brain was the devil’s workshop — though with what 
her mind was occupied during these industrious mo- 
ments she never condescended to tell. It was sur- 
mised, however, that she was kept busy “ countin’ 
stitches 

With an unresponsive glance at her husband as 
the trio entered the room, she said: “You are later 
than usual to-night, Gordon? ” 

Picking up a loose stitch she knitted diligently 
away, considering it quite an undignified proceeding 
to disturb herself in the least, or to make any show 
of affection when her husband came home in the even- 
ing. 

She was not by nature a demonstrative woman, 
and had long since discouraged her husband in any 
warmth of greeting towards herself. There had been 
a time that, warm-hearted and impulsive, he would 
have met his wife with affection on returning home, 
but his spontaneous and tender advances had been 
reproved so often as “ juist daft nonsense ” they had- 
died out and he no longer felt the necessity of check- 


A FIERY SWORD. 39 

ing himself. So he replied with a simple, straight- 
forward statement: 

“Yes; I fell in with Mrs. Griscom on my way out 
and turned and walked home with her.” Holding 
strictly to the letter of the Truth as was his principle, 
though he knew as a matter of fact that his wife did 
not exactly acquiesce in this friendship for this 
particular “ Yankee ”. 

Mrs. Allerton had, while living in Scotland, like 
the rest of “ auld-countree folk ”, acquired the habit 
of calling all Americans “Yankees”. She had 
learned the difference since she came South, but never 
forgot to make the distinction when speaking of Mrs. 
Griscom; who being born north of the Mason and 
Dixon Line was so considered by all Southerners. 
Her countenance showed displeasure at this informa- 
tion although she vouchsafed no reply. Picking up 
the poker she raked the fire vigorously. 

Gordon Allerton, with his generous and impulsive 
nature was at all times popular with women; there 
was something about his frank, cordial treatment that 
pleased them; made them his friends. Sometimes 
to the exclusion of his wife. In ordinary conversa- 
tion his voice was low, well modulated, with a clear 
enunciation of tone that gave to his speech a peculiar 
charm, a soothing tenderness. Even commonplace 
subjects on his lips were tinged with brightness. And 
when he lapsed into a poetic half-soliloquy he held one 
and all under the spell of his enchantment. It was 
this gift of language, this magnetism of voice and 


40 


A FIERY SWORD. 


manner that would have made him a leader of men; 
that helped him to govern by moral suasion his chil- 
dren; rule the men under him at his works without 
friction. 

But Mrs. Allerton had at all times discouraged 
and discountenanced the feminine trend of his friend- 
ships, striving to bring him under her subjection, in 
so far as her own ideas on the subject went. Fearful 
in her denunciation of what she considered unfaith- 
fulness in conjugal relations, she carried these ideas 
to the extent of deeming it highly improper for either 
to exchange simple pleasantries with the opposite sex 
unless in the presence of each other. There had 
been scenes innumerable in past years regarding this 
propensity of her husband’s nature, but finding her- 
self powerless to break him of the habit, especially 
in this particular instance — in which all her rages 
proved impotent to effect her wishes — she reconciled 
herself to the inevitable and had with a strong effort 
succeeded in keeping her lips closed upon the subject. 

Meanwhile Allerton drew his chair near the fire, 
changing his boots for a pair of slippers which loving 
Marjorie’s forethought had provided. Lifting Don- 
ald to his knee, and with his dear little daughter by 
his side, he said: 

“ Mrs. Griscom seems hurt at our not having been 
to see her lately?” although he visited the Griscoms 
often without his wife, he invariably spoke of his as- 
sociation with them in the plural number. 

“ I haven’t been ’round for sometime — the weath- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


41 


er has been so bad;” then as an afterthought: I 
never seem to get very friendly with her. I can un- 
derstand her husband Poor little man! But she 
is forever off on some topic that doesn’t interest me 
in the least. And what you can see in her to make 
so much fuss about is beyond my comprehension?” 
and her broad homely face grew red. She had stoop- 
ed too long over the fire, she thought. 

This term of “ homely ” has in it no reproach as 
applied to Mrs. Allerton. Her high cheek-bones 
which added plainness to her face were relieved by 
her frank, clear-blue eyes. We have all seen women 
with cheerful, homely faces, full of self-denial — faces 
that bring thoughts of a warm and cheery fireside 
with loving ones around it. Such faces are never 
plain to those who love them, they warm the heart 
with the soothing comfort of home and affection. 
But there were lines of determination and self-repres- 
sion that gave her face a certain hardness in repose. 
In her younger days one might have found this hard- 
ness of features relieved by the soft touches of youth, 
but as the years went by this determination and re- 
pression of all sentiment left its imprint upon her 
character and made her more dominant in manner; 
detracting much from her already unprepossessing 
appearance. 

Mrs. Allerton’s home, her children, absorbed her 
whole attention; though possessed of unfailing sym- 
pathy for those who needed aught of the kindness a 
motherly heart could give. If there was innately a 


A FIERY SWORD. 


42 

soft side to her nature, it showed itself in her affec- 
tion for her children. But in the presence of others 
this assumed a certain pride of possession. It was 
her custom to put “ they bairns ” to bed regularly at 
seven o’clock, and this duty was never left to a ser- 
vant unless it happened she were away from home. 
The last sight and sound of their waking hours must 
be their mother’s face, their mother’s voice. She 
was unfailing and unflinching in the performance of 
what she considered her duty. Serving her husband 
and children with a loyalty that would have been ad- 
mired by the world in general in a less unbending 
woman. 

She heard the front-door bell ring while thus en- 
gaged, and was not surprised on returning to the 
“ home-room ”, to find the “ Reverend ” Gideon Carr 
in earnest conversation with her husband. 

She had appropriated this room for daily use be- 
cause of its western exposure; the house being situated 
on one of the high bluffs that overlook the Tennessee 
river. And here, while she knitted and worked away 
during the day, the children found a never-ending 
source of amusement in watching for tugs and boats 
from the wide bay-windows. 

Gideon Carr though a comparatively young man 
was no dreamer — he realized there was “ work in the 
Master’s vineyard ” for all, and while expressing the 
intention of some day studying for the ministry his 
belief could hardly be called an orthodox one. He 
was not always sincere of purpose but it was agreed 


A FIERY SWORD. 


43 


amongst his friends that he “ meant well even if he 
did occasionally fall from grace He led a sort 
of nomad existence, going on long trips from home, 
lecturing here and there to little groups upon the 
streets, in his own and strange cities, drawn back al- 
ways by the attractions of a certain well-known young 
lady of his acquaintance, with whom he was honest- 
ly and sincerely in love, but who, as was well known, 
was not a bit in love with him. In fact, his charming 
playmate of other days, the daughter of Colonel Stan- 
wood, and his junior by several years, made no se- 
cret of her detestation of the man nor of her unbelief 
in his pretensions. His was a sort of dual nature. 
Of strong religious tendency, quiet and thoughtful, 
and yet inordinately vain of his person; of his looks; 
of his long black hair and smooth-shaven face. Al- 
ways immaculately dressed and perfumed; never 
without a fresh pair of gloves, with the odor of 
White-rose ’’ clinging to them, and his slender gold- 
headed cane. He was tall and slender of physique, 
but with a habit of drooping his head that gave him 
the appearance of being of much shorter stature. 
And regardless of the fact of what others thought of 
him, he and Gordon Allerton, who loved a discussion 
whether religious, scientific or political, were very 
good friends. He felt quite at home with the fam- 
ily. On long winter evenings while he and Allerton 
argued the pros and cons of many subjects, Mrs. Al- 
lerton made a splendid listener with her knitting 
needles busily flying in and out her fingers. 


44 


A FIERY SWORD. 


CHAPTER V. 

*‘So long as the world contains us both, 

Me the loving and you the loth, 

While the one eludes must the other pursue.” 

Miss Longley had been for six months past in 
New Orleans where the easy, warm, southern life 
in “ French-town ” suited her light nature admirably. 
To show herself on Saturday nights in the box of 
some friend at the Opera was the extreme of enjoy- 
ment. To wander through the old French-market 
early Sunday mornings, chatting here and there with 
some toothless old Creole, pretending to sip the black 
coffee offered for the pleasure of seeing the empty 
smile flit over the vacant mouth, was revelling in 
Bohemia. These frivolous pleasures were the only 
things she really cared for — outside herself; and a 
jealous liking for Gideon Carr. 

During the carnival days of Mardi-gras she was 
in her element; and her happiness reached a height 
of dizziness when crowned Queen of the Comus Ball. 
Carr s indifference piqued her and she delighted in 
this opportunity of showing him that others were not 
slow in appreciating her charms. The idea of his 
preferring to spend his time in “ preaching ” amongst 


A FIERY SWORD. 


45 


the roust-a-bouts who frequented the levee to bask- 
ing in the sunshine of her smiles was more than she 
could understand. She used all the fascinating arts 
at her command to keep him by her side. But all 
her subtle powers of persuasion; all the dreamy ten- 
derness of her eyes as she admired his dead-white 
complexion and long straight black hair were lost 
upon him — had no power to move him to admire 
her in return. 

And many were the conjectures of her friends as to 
whether Gideon Carr’s return home had anything to do 
with her leaving New Orleans so soon afterwards. She 
had written that she would “ divide her visit between 
dear little Mayme and Mrs. Griscom And that 
“ if convenient she would spend the first half of it 
with her dearest Fidelia ”. 

Her coming seemed to infuse a fresh element of 
life throughout the household. Mr. Griscom was 
delighted with her presence. She was passionately 
fond of music, playing well herself — and this was 
an additional bond between them. In the person 
of Elva Longley common clay had mingled with the 
gold. Since her arrival the usually quiet home had 
assumed an animated air. Her laughter echoed 
from the parlor where she was entertaining friends 
or tuned with Dinah’s from the kitchen, where she 
loved to go occasionally just for the pleasure of hear- 
ing Dinah say in her cajoling way: 

“ Laws sakes Miss Elvy you do look moughty 
well this mawnin’. I reckon Mr. Gideon have been 


A FIERY SWORD. 


46 

mekin’ love to yo’ las’ night. He’s a moughty good 
man, honey. The chosen of the Lawd! He sho’ 
do talk moughty nice to me when I teks the tea in ! ” 

Folding her hands and rolling her eyes upward 
until only the whites were visible. 

“What do you see, Aunt Dinah?” 

“ I’s in complation of how he hab fotched me to 
see ma sins.” 

Elva’s loud peals of laughter shook the dignity 
of the Nubian statue, compelling her to drop her head 
in a half reproachful way as she joined with a good 
natured grin in the merriment she had excited. 

Elva Longley was now a woman of twenty-six 
years, though to none had she ever admitted more 
than twenty-two. Of strong magnetic influence; 
most superbly fashioned by Nature with a tall, wil- 
lowy form. While not beautiful there was a certain 
charm of face, a greater charm in the large soft hazel 
eyes which had a trick of yellowing when her mood 
was a dreamy one. Although of sparing education 
she had a superficial knowledge and a lightness of 
manner which stood her in good stead. She was a 
ready and interesting talker preferring the society 
of men to that of women, since upon them she was 
dependent for a change of circumstances and station 
in life, although equally charming to both alike when 
it suited her purpose. 

She remained at Mrs. Griscom’s for a week or two; 
long enough to ascertain that there were greater at- 
tractions for the “ Reverend ” Carr elsewhere ; and 


A FIERY SWORD. 


47 


then it did not take her long to transfer her attack 
to another and better vantage-field. To become 
pleasantly domiciled with her “ dear little Mayme 
Believing she would have a better showing in the 
house of her enemy since her all unconscious rival 
attracted that which she herself was powerless to at- 
tract with all her wiles: the presence of Gideon Carr. 
She intuitively felt that he was in love with Mayme 
and feared, for how could she, “ the unsophisticated 
little minx ”, resist his blandishments? But given a 
fair chance it would be easy winning him by her 
greater charms and superior knowledge. 

She and Mayme had met in boarding-school and 
had although several years older become quite good 
friends. Realizing the advantages to be gained by 
cultivating the friendship of one who had wealth, 
a good home and an indulgent father — and mother- 
less — she had fostered its growth with all the arts of 
fascination at her command. She admired and re- 
spected Colonel Stanwood and would not have ob- 
jected to a position nearer than that of friend to his 
motherless daughter. But Colonel Stanwood amus- 
ed and flattered by her evident liking for himself, while 
appreciating her kindness to his daughter, had no mind 
to place one so young and frivolous over her in au- 
thority. Elva, meanwhile, conscious that she could 
win no further in that quarter and realizing that a 
woman with nothing but her personal charms to 
recommend her in capturing a husband must make 
her hay before she is thirty, regretfully turned her 


A FIERY SWORD. 


48 

attention to younger and more susceptible game, con- 
tent that she had ensconced herself so comfortably 
for the time being. Then, too, Mayme’s adulation 
was pleasing to her. She had always from their 
schooldays encouraged Mayme’s affection with the 
patronizing air of one bestowing a favor upon a 
child. But her heart was too deep and its ways too 
crooked for the simple, guileless mind of her com- 
panion to ever discover its deceitful workings. She 
flattered Mayme by her attentions, her protestations 
of ever-lasting friendship and assumed tenderness; 
appealing to the girl’s sympathetic pure heart by pic- 
turing her lonely life and homelessness in contrast 
with the fullness of her own. So that Mayme was 
ready and willing to extend her hospitality for a 
lifetime and would have deemed herself blessed in 
the companionship and love of one who had become 
like an elder sister. Colonel Stanwood pleased that 
his child should have the friendship of one so lovable, 
so attractive and so evidently fond of her, looked on 
indulgently. 

As was usual in the hospitable home of the Gris- 
coms, rarely an evening passed without some one of 
their numerous friends being attracted thither by the 
genial air of welcome which pervaded the atmosphere 
of this house. 

Mayme and Elva soon dropped in to spend the 
evening accompanied by Gideon Carr; and as it had 
become an accepted fact that where Mayme was Gen- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


49 


eral Southmaide’s shadow was not far ofif, he, also, 
very shortly thereafter put in an appearance. So 
that when Gordon Allerton and his wife arrived they 
found Mayme and Elva Longley sharing the honors 
of the evening, the General and the “ Reverend 
Carr highly entertained by their sparkling conversa- 
tion. 

Elva’s lithe and graceful figure with that subtle 
suggestion of indolence peculiar to all Southern wom- 
en gave but added charm to the vivacious manner in 
which she related some of the incidents of her life in 
New Orleans, which now and then reminded the 
“ Reverend ” Carr, who was not lacking in a keen 
appreciation of what was humorous, of some com- 
ical situation in which he had found himself at various 
' times during his travels. And which he related to 
the added merriment of the company. 

Fidelia felt relieved when she saw that Gordon 
Allerton was accompanied by his wife. During the 
weeks that had passed since she so unceremoniously 
bade him goodbye at the gate on that fateful after- 
noon she had been fortifying herself for the time 
when she knew they must meet again. And now 
the hour of her trial had arrived. She had longed 
for his visits. The cheery impulsive way he had 
of occasionally running in for a few minutes on his 
way home had been so pleasant — so encouraging. 
Yet conscious as she was now of her feelings towards 
him she had rather dreaded this meeting. While 
she had in a measure outlined her demeanor when 


A FIERY SWORD. 


50 

they should meet again she rather doubted her ability 
to carry out her line of conduct as faithfully as she 
had planned. But in the solid, matter-of-fact pres- 
ence of his wife, she found refuge as behind an im- 
penetrable wall. There was a nervous coldness about 
the hand she extended him in greeting but the agita- 
tion was not perceptible in her manner as she turned 
to Mrs. Allerton with the conventional inquiry about 
the children. The situation was not an easy one to 
sustain, and she laughed nervously as Mrs. Allerton 
turned towards Mr. Griscom with a motherly smile. 

Mrs. Allerton could not appreciate Fidelia’s 
“ Flights after Genius ” as she sometimes thus vaguely 
expressed her disapproval of the growing intimacy 
between her husband and Mrs. Griscom. And al- 
though she utterly disclaimed any feeling of jealousy 
she did not look upon it with the indifferent acquies- 
cence and passivity displayed by Mr. Griscom. Al- 
though acknowledging she had neither the time nor 
the inclination to join them in their Utopian soaring, 
she silently resented their co-operation in something 
outside her capacity for enjoyment. With unbend- 
ing pride of confidence in her husband’s honor, secure 
of her own influence, she admitted the possibility of 
platonic friendship. But between a married man 
and woman? No! Especially one so personally at- 
tractive as Fidelia Griscom; her contrast in every 
way. Harm was bound to come of it. And in the 
arrogance of her own powers she deemed that young 
woman the object of her commiseration. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


51 


For Mr. Griscom she had a sincere liking. This 
quiet, little man, who impressed one as being smaller 
in stature than he really was, appealed to her mother- 
heart and between them there sprang up much in 
common. Intuitively conscious of his weakened 
energies his state of health drew upon her sympathies 
as she divined the end with clearer eyes than those 
more closely associated with him. Mr. Griscom 
with little to say to others, evidently felt this sympathy 
and became quite talkative when they were together; 
consequently it seemed but natural for them to with- 
draw from the general conversation. 

Allerton’s coming but increased the general anima- 
tion. He had up to this time been standing beside 
Mayme and Elva Longley exchanging pleasantries 
with them in his breezy way. After a few words 
with General Southmaide and the “ Reverend ” Carr 
he turned and seated himself near Mrs. Griscom. 

As their eyes met both instinctively felt that hence- 
forth there would be something hidden from the other. 
In striving to appear natural, to throw into their 
manner some of the old frankness and good-comrade- 
ship of past meetings and conversations, there was 
all the outward finesse and polish without the natural 
frankness and warmth. To each sensitive mind now 
on the alert this warmth was missed, their voices ap- 
peared natural but there was an undercurrent which 
chilled. Their studious avoidance of their last meet- 
ing betrayed the fact that it was still the one subject 
and scene uppermost in their minds. Allerton in- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


52 

stinctively felt the subtle change in her manner, also 
that she seemed a trifle constrained in his presence, 
but attributed this to a possible humiliation over her 
outburst of feeling on that occasion. His condemna- 
tion of self had been so severe and he had tried so 
hard to stifle the knowledge of his true feelings tow- 
ards her, he unconsciously laid little stress upon her 
actions. However, after chatting awhile on things 
of minor interest, Fidelia was the first to extend the 
olive branch in the interest of their future cordial re- 
lations along the same old lines. 

“ I have written a little article for the T imes, since 
I saw you, on Equal Remuneration for Woman's 
Work, and would like your opinion on my argu- 
ments before sending it? ” 

“ With pleasure. When may I read it? ” he re- 
plied promptly and frankly. 

“ Will to-morrow afternoon suit your conve- 
nience? ” hesitatingly. 

Allerton reflected a moment. 

“ Perfectly. About — ? ” 

“Four o’clock? Is that too early?” she asked 
with the manner of one granting a favor. 

“ Not at all,” he responded quickly. 

In the meantime an amusing scene was transpir- 
ing at the other end of the room. Prevailing upon 
Mr. Griscom for some music there had been a friendly 
little Squabble between Mayme and Elva as to who 
should accompany him at the piano. Elva was' 
anxious that Mayme should do so as that would then 


A FIERY SWORD. 


53 

leave her free to have an uninterrupted conversation 
with the “ Reverend ” Carr, but when he arose with 
much alacrity to turn the music, she quietly usurped 
his place. 

“ Why you don’t know enough about music to 
turn a page ! ” she laughed scornfully. 

General Southmaide had also arisen to offer his 
services but divining Elva’s reasons he made a digni- 
fied retreat, not a little amused at her manouevres. 

“ Young people are so flighty nowadays 

Mrs. Allerton spoke with a compassionate smile 
inwardly resented by the General as he resumed his 
seat. She had not been so dull but that she had 
observed the slight shade of disappointment with 
which he turned away from the piano and Mayme’s 
side. 

Fidelia was still expatiating enthusiastically on the 
topic of woman’s work and tried to interest Mrs. Al- 
lerton in the subject. But she unconsciously felt 
that there was no sympathy back of the pretended 
interest. 

“ I am utterly at loss to know how to entertain 
Mrs. Allerton?” confided Fidelia to her husband after 
their visitors had departed. 

“Why, you bore the woman to death! and her 
husband as well, I am sure. With your ovm ever- 
lasting talk on self-culture.” 

He answered with more show of spirit than usual. 
Then filled with compunction over his hasty speech, 
he said more kindly : “ Every woman must have her 


A FIERY SWORD. 


54 

fads, I suppose, and you are no exception; eh, 
dearie?” kissing her fondly. 

Gordon Allerton appeared promptly at the hour 
appointed to read the manuscript. Divining from 
Fidelia’s actions that their views coincided as to their 
future conduct towards each other, he gladly resumed 
the old-time intimacy along the lines she evidently 
intended to follow. Both realized they had wander- 
ed alluringly near the brink of a precipice, while se- 
cretly believing that so long as their real feelings 
were kept below the surface, hidden and unknown 
to the other, they were individually strong enough to 
restrain from the fatal leap. To have given up so 
pleasant a friend, so agreeable a pastime as even this 
little incident afforded would have occasioned not 
only regrets and a keen disappointment for both but 
would have meant an involuntary sacrifice on his 
part. His energetic and progressive nature, his phil- 
anthropic desires craved and demanded some such 
outlet as this association and friendship permitted. 
He was never happier than when with hand out- 
stretched he could assist some one else to a higher 
plane in the Realms of Thought; and the unrolling 
of Fancy’s scroll in this instance gave him ever in- 
creasing mental pleasure. For never in his life be- 
fore had he met with one so congenial in tastes. 

He was glad, too, that between them there had 
been no allusion to that unfortunate conversation of 
some weeks ago. This of itself proved Fidelia’s 


A FIERY SWORD. 


55 

strength of character, her womanly stability. It prov- 
ed also that she had refrained from lachrymosely re- 
turning again to an unpleasant scene, as is the habit 
of some women. She wished to blot out the poignant 
remembrance from her life. Very well. He would 
not recall it. 

Was it a consciousness of his own weakness that 
made him come directly to the purpose of his visit? 
Perhaps he felt there was greater refuge in an avowed 
intention than in an abstract one. However, be that 
as it may, he almost immediately asked to see the 
article she had written. 

After slowly and carefully reading it over, he said 
with an assumed tone of playfulness: 

“ My dear Mrs. Griscom, the pupil has surpassed 
herself. At this rate of progress you will not need 
my assistance.” 

Fidelia beamed. And more from the gratifica- 
tion and pleasure portrayed by his countenance than 
from the praise conveyed by his words. 

“ Woman-like,” he continued, “ you wish to bring 
your sex to a better realization of their worth, and 
to a keener realization of the harm they are doing 
to professional and skilled labor by accepting less 
remuneration for their services — when equal in kind — 
than is paid to men.” 

I feel very strongly on the subject,” she replied 
eagerly. “ It is one to which I have given much 
thought.” 


56 


A FIERY SWORD. 


“ You certainly assail the difficulty with energy,” he 
said warmly. 

“But do you not believe?” questioned Fidelia 
thoughtfully, “ that the conjoined individual effort of 
every woman would be strong enough to revolution- 
ize matters as they now stand?” 

“ I most certainly do. Upon woman herself de- 
pends the betterment of all conditions concerning 
her sex. But, pardon the accusation, women are 
cowards when it comes to boldly standing up for their 
own. They will watch from a distance and if not 
openly, they secredy admire those who are brave 
enough or audacious enough to fight to maintain 
their place in the industrial field. But to join them — ” 

“Yes. That’s true;” she answered. “I deplore 
the fact; but it is the exceptional woman who strikes 
out boldly and maintains her opinions against the 
sneers and jeers of the multitude — ” 

“ And that multitude composed mainly of her own 
sex. What a pleasure it is to meet the ‘ exception ’ 
— one with some ideas beyond dress and the trivialties 
of the day ! ” he exclaimed. Smiling approvingly at 
the intelligent, thoughtful face that looked up into 
his so eagerly. 

Fidelia laughed and then said chidingly: 

“ If I did not so fully agree with you, I should feel 
it my duty to take arms in their defense. Very few 
of us have a soul above frivolities. But then,” she 
laughingly exclaimed, “ I have no intention of fur- 


A FIERY SWORD. 57 

ther holding up the weaker sex to the scorn of the 
stronger.” 

“ But you will agree with me so far? ” he asked. 

Mr. Griscom came in just as she replied: 

“ To my shame, I must. But there is hope for 
us yet. The liberal education which we are receiv- 
ing must have some effect. Besides,” she exclaim- 
ed as an afterthought, “ we are not all feather-brained, 
or there would not be so many clever men to note 
our defects.” And her brown eyes danced mis- 
chievously out at him through her long light eyelashes. 

“ Yoii are turning the tables with a vengeance,” 
laughed Allerton. “ I do not forget that you are 
the mothers of the race.” 

“ Ah, there she has the best of you, Allerton ! ” ex- 
claimed Gilbert admiringly. “ It is very kind of you 
to come and give her the benefit of your advice, but 
don’t let her bore you too much with such subjects.” 

After which speech, Mrs. Griscom’s facile, fool- 
ishly adoring, good-natured husband relapsed into the 
silent admiration for which he was noted. 


58 


A FIERY SWORD. 


CHAPTER VI. 

‘‘Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley 
stretching for miles below 

Is white with blossoming cherry-trees, as if just covered 
with lightest snow.” 

April had come with its alternate days of warm 
bright sunshine ; its clear soft-blue skies with not even 
the smallest fleck of a cloudlet to mar their perfect- 
ness; its days of weeping and grey-gloominess; this 
month of teasing rain and tantalizing sunshine with 
its hours oscillating between uncertainties, remind- 
ing one of the sweet variableness of some well-loved 
woman with her moods of petulance and fascinations 
leading one on to think that without this uncertainty 
of temper she would not be half so charming. 

This month of sunshine and shadow, warm with 
the breath of Spring, was full of attraction. And for 
all the unstableness of the season it had been decided 
between Mayme and her friends that nothing less 
than a good old-fashioned picnic on Lookout Moun- 
tain would repay them for the discomforts of the 
preceding months — for during February and March 
it seemed as though the elements had conspired 
against mankind. Never had there been such deluges 
of rain; such east winds. 


A FIERY SWORD. 59 

It was like the purifying of the soul,” remarked 
the “ Reverend ” Carr. 

“ Only one wonders whether so much washing 
away of earthly substance is necessary; ” said Mayme, 
as she drew attention to the “ great scars left on the 
side of poor old Lookout.” 

“ The wonder is that the mountain has not de- 
scended to the level of the Earth,” said General South- 
maide, glancing up towards its heights and back again 
to Mayme as though he had placed her far above 
the plane of his devotion. 

They had all met at Mayme’s home, which was 
near the foot of the mountain, and had started out 
in one of the Colonel’s big-seated wagons to spend 
the day at its top. 

“Oh, that delicious fragrance! what is it?” in- 
quired some one as the wagon crawled slowly up- 
ward. 

“The mimosa!” exclaimed Mayme, whiffing the 
air delightedly. “Ah, see it!” she screamed with 
all the eagerness of a child, as she spied its feathery 
white sprays glinting between the young-leafed 
boughs and branches. “ Oh, do let us stop and get 
some ! ” she appealed to Mr. Allerton, who seated 
with the driver held the lines at the time. 

At her request he drew in the reins and slowing 
down they all scrambled out pell-mell and rushed 
laughingly up the mountain side, which at this dis- 
tance was easily accessible; trampling underfoot — in 
their haste to see who would reach the coveted 


6o 


A FIERY SWORD. 


mimosa first — the wealth of laurel and pink trailing 
arbutus which covered the earth at this season. 

Mr. Allerton, after giving instructions to the driver 
and bidding Donald and Marjorie remain with Dinah 
in the wagon, stepped down leisurely beside his wife, 
who had not become sufficiently infected with the en- 
thusiasm of youthful spirits to join in the mad scram- 
ble up the hill-side but was possessed of sufficient 
humor to call his attention to the figure cut by the 
General with his long coat tails flying out behind 
him as he lead the race, his clothes hanging loosely 
on the tall, lithe frame that had long since been robbed 
of the redundancy of flesh it might have carried by 
his super-abundance of energy. For the day and 
time being he had laid aside his dignity, entering into 
the spirit of the hour with a boyishness contrasting 
strangely with his height. Seizing the finest branch 
within his reach he soon stripped off its delicate white 
sprays, and turning, with all the bashfulness of a boy, 
offered Mayme his spoils. 

“ Oh, thank you so much. General ! ” burying her 
face in the sweet-scented mass. When she raised 
her eyes she felt she had recovered her usual sang 
froid and was quite able to face the conscious glances 
that had passed from one to another as they realized 
that she was to be the recipient of all the General’s 
bounty. 

Spying a narrow, tortuous path leading up the face 
of the mountain, the younger and more venturesome 
members of the party elected to try this ascent and 


A FIERY SWORD. 


6l 


with youthful scorning of its toilsomeness averred 
their ability of reaching the summit by this zigzag 
climbing before those who proceeded by the road in 
hopes of overtaking the wagon. 

After much fun for some and more labor for those 
who were not so disposed towards climbing they 
reached Sunset Rock to find the rest of the party 
who had availed themselves of the drive awaiting 
them. 

Mayme’s enthusiasm when they reached the Point 
was beyond all bounds. She ran into the little cot- 
tage — kept as a sort of photograph gallery and shop 
for the sale of souvenirs and numerous articles and 
relics of old war times, broken shells and rusty bayo- 
nets — and up the stairs into a little room with one 
window, fitted up with small squares of different col- 
ored glass, which overlooked the Tennessee winding 
in and out of a flat fertile valley land below. No 
matter how often Mayme found herself in this room 
there was always a fresh fascination in peering 
through this window — as many colored as Joseph’s 
coat — down upon the moccasin formed by the river 
in its windings. It was a question whether the moun- 
tain or the river was more beloved. She pointed 
out the former with all the pride of possession when 
strangers came to sojourn there for a time. She 
gloated over the scenery from its summit, and the 
Blue Ridge mountains stretching as far away as eye 
could reach— bluer still by contrast with the distance. 


62 


A FIERY SWORD. 


adding with triumph that from the Point you could 
see into five or six different states. 

To-day the view was unsurpassed. The river 
winding in and out green fields looked like a silver 
thread woven by the cunning hand of Nature through 
a fabric of shimmering emerald green with splotches 
of golden sunlight and shadows. The air was redo- 
lent with the fragrance of wild flowers and with that 
sweet, dry scent of moss, that one who has ever caught 
never forgets, draping itself fantastically about the 
trees and swinging in long dead-grey festoons from 
branches alive with the twittering of small birds as 
they fluttered and hopped about. 

“Isn’t it heavenly?” exclaimed Mayme, gazing 
about her with delight upon each separate object in 
which Spring manifested its young luxuriant life. 

“ Is there a soul to whom Nature does not speak 
at some time or other? ” queried the “ Reverend ” 
Gideon Carr, as he turned away from the scene with 
the light of eternal happiness reflected in his face. 
“Oh, Lord, Thy handiwork is glorious! And no 
science can prove that all this panorama of loveliness 
found itself thus by chance. And those who set them- 
selves up in high places — ” 

Mayme looked wickedly at Elva Longley as much 
as to say, look out for a sermon, and then as deter- 
mined not to “ waste their precious time in listening 
to one ” cried out enthusiastically : “ Oh, Gideon, 
now is just the time to take our pictures ! ” 

He looked at her with half-reproachful eyes, but 


A FIERY SWORD. 


63 

all laden as they were with great armfuls of laurel and 
masses of mimosa to which the arbutus lent color, 
the picture they thus unconsciously made was irre- 
sistible, calling to them not to move but to stand just 
as they were he hurried off to the wagon for his 
camera, feeling that grouped and posed as they were 
they made a subject worthy of a master hand and 
which should be entitled “ Spring.” 

Then it was suggested that Donald, Marjorie and 
Mayme with Dinah in the back-ground should be 
photographed together, but Dinah objected to dark- 
ening the scene of youth and beauty by her presence. 

“No, sirree!” she smiled in answer to Donald’s 
pleading to come; “ Mr. Carr hab done called that 
air box a ‘ snap-shot,’ so I reckons Dinah best 
keep outen its way.” And as both children clung 
about her persuasively, she said: “No, no! honey, 
I has my subjection to that air sorter thing. When 
I wants my likeness tuk I’se g’wine to go to the store 
and hab it done properly.” 

The rest laughed merrily at Dinah’s “ subjec- 
tions ” remembering that all the way up in the wagon 
she had kept as far away as was possible from the 
corner where Carr had bestowed it with his word of 
warning to her to be careful “ or it would go off.” 

Feeling that their climbing and the fresh, keen 
mountain air had whetted their appetites and was forc- 
ing a more mundane need upon them than the en- 
joyment of art and scenery could satisfy, luncheon 
was quickly spread out upon the grass. All helping 


A FIERY SWORD. 


64 

to Stretch out the white table-cloth under the shade 
of a large tree. And as they dropped down in com- 
fortable positions around the cloth, the pickles and 
the jellies, the pies and the cakes, the delicious sand- 
wiches, to say nothing of the great platters of fried 
chicken, browned to that nicety that only an old-time 
southern darkie knows the secret of, and the buckets 
of lemonade! made more mouths than Donald’s and 
Marjy’s water at sight of this bounteous and goodly 
display. 

The laughter and good cheer was infectious, and 
for a time there was such a clattering of tongues that 
Donald with his eyes spreading longingly about him 
thought that he would have to remind them of a 
very hungry little boy waiting for them to begin. 
Suddenly with a chicken-bone in his uplifted hand 
he cried out: “‘The swallow, the swallow — hoot, 
dinna ye see her? ’ ” as a little brown-coated bird flew 
across the table. 

“Black i’ the back and white i’ the wame;” 

sang Allerton, amused at the questioning, reproach- 
ful look in the child’s eyes, as he continued: 

“Blithe days are to follow, blithe weather come wi’ her: — 
Row out a sweet scone frae the fouth ye’ve at hame?” 

Mrs. Allerton assuring Master Donald that “ it’s 
all right for your father to sing at a picnic-table,” he 
joined with the rest in persuading his father, who 


A FIERY SWORD. 65 

really sang this old Rhodian folk-song with a deli- 
cious Scotch accent, to finish it. 

“A pint o’ guid wine, an’ a basket o* cheese, 

And wheat-farls and bannocks the swallow will please. 

Maun we e’en gang awa’? Hae ye naething to gie’s? 

A’s weel, gin ye gie. 

Gin ye winna, we winna let be. 

But the door or the lintel we’se tak alang wi’s, 

Or the guidwife hersel’ — 

It’s but a wee wifie, we’se carry her weel. 

But gie us a pickle 
And ye shall hae mickle. 

Come, open the door to the burdie o’ spring; 

Nae auld carles are we, ’tis callants that sing.” 

Encouraging Donald to join in with his wee piping 
voice as he went along. 

Having rested their tired feet from their long climb 
and feasted the “ inner man ” to their hearts’ content, 
they arose from the ground and separated into con- 
genial groups to go whither fancy listed. 

Mrs. Allerton generously volunteered to remain 
behind and assist Dinah. The remains of the feast 
being plentiful it was decided to make up a basket and 
leave it at the “ orphans’ home ” on their way back 
to the city. As a matter of fact she made this an 
excuse for not accompanying the rest of the party. 
She felt quite “ out o’ puff ” she explained to Dinah — 
using this homely Scotch phrase— as she admitted the 
fatigue consequent upon her undue exercise of the 
morning. And to say the least,” she added, “ she 
had reached the years of discretion and could not 
see the sense of youth’s mad folly of tiring one’s self 


1 


66 A FIERY SWORD. 

out by rushing hither and thither like a bee on the 
wing.” 

There was nothing behind Dinah’s good natured 
smile, as she remarked “ I sho’ agrees with yo’ very 
sensible idee’, Mis’ Allerton.” Nor did it enter her 
head to compare Mrs. Allerton’s slow, lumber-like 
movements with the graceful fleetness of those on 
whom Time had not yet laid its burden of years and 
flesh. Her easily impressionable mind also accepted 
without thought of argument — as she would not have 
presumed to express an opinion of her own on the 
subject — Mrs. Allerton’s statement that it was wiser 
to keep the “ bairns ” with them than to let them run 
the risk of getting hurt or lost by straying away from 
her watchful eye. 

Leave those in a crowd to select their own com- 
panions and true congeniality will nearly always find 
its mate. Therefore there was nothing surprising 
in the fact when Mrs. Griscom and Gordon Allerton 
found that they had quite lost sight of the others. 
Neither were they abashed at finding themselves thus 
hidden away from the maze of the world. How 
sweet it was to be together. Each felt a security of 
pride within, that is weakness in an untried strength. 

They wandered on, talking of a thousand sweet 
nothings, “ the world forgetting and by the world for- 
got.” The mountain forest was alive with the carol- 
ling of birds; here and there the sweet, full-throated 
song of the robin; the trilling of the mocking-bird; 
the sharp twee-whit! twee- whit! of another calling to 


A FIERY SWORD. 


67 

his mate. Allerton, whose conversation was for her 
at all times full of pleasant intoxication, was to- 
day surpassing himself. He felt in his lightest, hap- 
piest mood. His fancy roamed from the analyzing 
of ferns and lichens to the spiritual delight of the 
soul as it lost itself in the ethereal blueness above 
them. Fidelia, whose intellect was starving for such 
nourishment, felt that his words were as “ wine of 
the Gods,” stimulating and soul-satisfying. They 
wandered on and on in their happiness, lost in con- 
templation of thoughts and things that were equally 
delightful to both. And, while thus absorbed, as 
is usual, with those whose hearts are full of sun- 
shine, they took no notice of the heavy mist which 
suddenly seemed to envelop them, nor had they ob- 
served while treading the flowery but perilous path of 
Love’s oblivion that their feet had strayed onto 
ground that was soft and marshy — betokening the 
nearness of some little spring that trickled on its way 
down the mountain. 

An April storm had quickly gathered about them 
and the first burst of thunder, accompanied by a vivid 
flash of lightning and a few drops of rain, brought 
them back to a sense of danger and the necessity of 
seeking shelter from some nearby over-hanging rock. 
In their haste and in the darkness which had so 
suddenly come down upon them Fidelia lost foot- 
hold and with a scream slipped down a steep straight 
rock and was lost to sight in the black clouds that 
hung over the mountain like a funeral pall. 


68 


A FIERY SWORD. 


Allerton feeling lost in the misty darkness and wild 
with fear called to her excitedly. Receiving no an- 
swer he flung himself blindly over the side of the 
rock, grasping the first friendly sapling his hands 
touched, and thus from bush to bush let himself 
down in an agony of apprehension at her silence. 
Finally as he gained footing, realizing, man’s im- 
potency to war with Nature, he stood still, waiting, 
praying, that this gray-darkness would soon lift and 
enable him to reach his — no! even in this moment of 
suspense and agony, the Mind battling against the 
Heart refused to voice this term of endearment and 
Reason substituted “ friend.” 

In the half-light of the clearing away of the mist 
he spied her not far off. His heart stopped its beat- 
ing when he found her lying so still and white. 
Reason was scattered to the winds as he dropped down 
on his knees beside her, chafing and kissing her hands, 
calling her all the fond names a full heart can sug- 
gest; forgetful of the fact that others might hear, or 
what it would mean to her should she revive at this 
moment. The trickling sound of water reaching his 
ears he rushed towards the tiny stream and filling 
both hands dashed it over her face. Seeing her re- 
turn of consciousness he drew her to her feet, but 
her cry of pain appalled him; letting go her hand, 
he cried excitedly: 

** Fidelia — darling! — what is it? ” putting his 
arms about her. 

“Oh! my wrist!” she moaned, but the pain had 



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A FIERY SWORD. 


69 

not dulled her senses to the love-note in his voice, 
nor the tenderness of his touch as he lifted the in- 
jured hand. Her eyes filled with tears and a wave 
of tremulous emotion passed over her — 

“ . . .like a bird that hears 
A note diviner than it knows, and fears 
To share the larger harmony too much. — ” 

She recalled both days afterward with a tingle of 
happiness and a blush of shame for admitting it even 
to herself. 

Allerton made a careful examination of the wrist, 
gently moving the hand back and forth, and in the 
silence of this operation sought to calm himself be- 
fore saying: 

“ I do not think it is broken — only sprained.” His 
voice sounded cold and unsympathetic, but his eyes 
as they caught hers showed the depth of suffering 
and anxiety he had undergone and a feeling of mutual 
understanding flashed like a current from soul to 
soul — 

“Cousin Fidelia — ! Mr. Allerton! Where are 
you?” sounded in Mayme’s clear, shrill tones. 

Allerton hallooing back a reply, they were soon 
joined by others of the party, who were all sympathy 
when they reached them and found Gordon Allerton 
bandaging up the injured wrist as best he could with 
his handkerchief. 

“Dearest! Howev — er did it happen?” anxious- 
ly inquired Mayme, who was the first to reach them. 


70 


A FIERY SWORD. 


Oh, how clever you are, Mr. Allerton ! ” noticing 
how deftly he had bound up the hand and arm. 

“ There is nothing better than ice-cold spring wa- 
ter for a sprain, Mrs. Griscom; come over here and 
let this water run on it awhile ! ” commanded the 
“ Reverend ” Carr, who was all that practical human- 
ity could desire in an emergency. 

And while Mrs. Griscom held her hand under the 
water, its cold drip, drip, relieving in a measure the 
pain she was enduring, they discussed with some 
wonder and amazement the fact of their having been 
caught and blinded, as it were, by the mist, and how 
each one seemed to suddenly lose sight and hearing. 
The Reverend ” Carr spoke of the confidence of 
feeling one’s nearness to God at such a moment, and 
the wisdom of standing perfectly still until the mists 
cleared away. 

“ We all agree with you,” replied General South- 
maide, “ and if our poor friend, here, had done the 
same thing, she would not now be suffering such 
disastrous and painful consequences.” 

But then you forget that awful clap of thunder,” 
nervously spoke up Elva Longley. “ Its ominous 
sound had a worse effect upon me than the terrible 
flashes of lightning.” 

“ I took it for the ‘ last trump ’ ” laughed Mayme, 
“ and fully expected to see the heavens part and Ga- 
briel’s chariot of fire descending,” not in the least 
abashed at Carr’s quick glance of disapproval at this 
display of levity on her part. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


71 


Matters might have been more serious, Miss 
Mayme;” rebuking her with his coldness of speech. 
“ And we should feel grateful to a kind Providence 
who withheld His hand from inflicting worse injury 
upon our friend.” At this moment his eye caught 
the shimmering colors of a rainbow through the 
heavily sprinkled foliage, and to Mayme’s delight 
he was so lost in admiration of this work of Nature 
he quite forgot to finish his “ sermon.” 

They were a jolly party, laughing and singing, 
while their wagon jolted and jostled down the moun- 
tain past St. Elmo and home again. 

Had such occurrences not been so common they 
would have attracted the notice of the many toilers 
from the village and fields returning to their homes 
in the fast fading twilight of this glorious spring day. 


7 ? 


A FIERY SWORD. 


CHAPTER VII. 

*‘My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 

And every tongue brings in a several tale, 

And every tale condemns me for a villain.” 

On the day after the picnic, Allerton as he rose 
from the breakfast table and folded his newspaper 
looked across at his wife and asked her to call and 
see how Mrs. Griscom was; whether she was suffering 
much from her sprained wrist. To this request Mrs. 
Allerton demurred, having in mind her spring sew- 
ing.” After a day’s idling, as she looked upon the 
picnic, she felt that she must redouble her energy 
to make up for it. It was not often that she allowed 
herself to waste her time, she told him, and she 
thought “ he might as well call in on his way home 
and save her the trouble.” Not that she was lack- 
ing in sympathy ” she hastened to say, the color surg- 
ing up above her high cheek bones, “ and if there 
was anything in the world she could do for Mrs. Gris- 
com he must not fail to bring her word.” 

Allerton had a busy day at his works but he could 
not help letting his mind stray back to the occurrence 
of yesterday; nor could he help the thrills of pleasure 


A FIERY SWORD. 73 

that pervaded his being at the thought of seeing 
Fidelia so soon again. 

He was too much engrossed to analyze this feel- 
ing or to follow it out to its inevitable conclusion. 
Had he been asked to explain it he would have at- 
tributed it to his sympathy for her accident. “ That 
was a nasty sprain, in truth,” he thought. And his 
nerves quickened their sensation at the idea of her 
suffering. He hoped it would not prove serious. 

One of his men coming into the office to ask some 
question concerning his work surprised him leaning 
over his desk, his head resting on his hands. His 
thoughts of her had been vague, sweet ones, such as 
he could not put into words. And there was still 
an abstract, far-away look in his eyes as he raised 
himself with a start and gave the directions solicited. 

When the man had gone he chided himself for his 
foolishness, but, nevertheless, as the clock ticked round 
towards the closing hour, he eagerly shut his ledgers 
and with a few instructions to his clerks left his 
office and started out briskly towards Mrs. Griscom’s 
home. 

There was a sultriness about this April day, even 
though the sun was casting long shadows behind it, 
and he pushed his hat back from his brow as he 
paused before a florist’s window. He knew Mrs. 
Griscom’s love for flowers and felt that she would ap- 
preciate a bunch of early spring roses, those white 
and pink ones with their fresh, delicate fragrance. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


7A 

“How is your Mistress?” he inquired of good- 
natured, smiling Dinah, as she opened the door. 

“ Her wrist am mighty painful, Mr. Allerton, — I 
specs she am asleep, though;” as she tiptoed lightly 
down the hall and peered into the sitting-room. 

Fidelia hearing their voices had risen and when 
she saw who it was, smilingly stretched out her left 
hand in greeting. 

“ You need not apologize, my dear Mrs. Gris- 
com;” laying down the roses. “It will be some- 
time, I fear, before this poor little hand,” lightly and 
tenderly stroking the one that lay in a white silk sling, 
“ will be able to do its duty.” 

“ I feel so utterly helpless without it,” she smiled. 
“ But I regret most of all the enforced idleness ; my 
poor work will suffer as well.” 

“ It is unfortunate, no doubt, but the ‘ idleness ’ 
will do you good;” he replied, noticing the deep cir- 
cles about her large brown eyes, and the extreme 
pallor of her face and lips; mute evidences of a night 
of pain and sleeplessness. 

“ You must lie down again! ” he commanded gent- 
ly, piling up the cushions afresh, “ or I shall feel I 
have disturbed your rest. Were you sleeping? ” he 
inquired as she reclined on the sofa. 

“No! — not exactly;” smiling up at him, as he 
drew forward a comfortable armchair for himself. 
“ I was day-dreaming — ‘ those grandiose, immortal 
cosmogonic dreams, in which one seems to carry the 
world in one’s breast, to touch the stars; to possess 


A FIERY SWORD. 


73 

the infinite ^ — . It is not often I indulge myself in 
such pleasure — but the relief from pain was so sweet 
to me, I wandered away to my Chateaux en Espagne — 
those castles that are so airy, so easily built, and yet 
crumble away almost before completion. I am glad 
you came in. Goodness knows where I would have 
strayed! What lovely roses! and I have not yet 
thanked you for them.” 

“Yes; did you ever see the flowers more luxuriant 
than they are this year; you love them, do you not?” 
as his eye took in the great pots of palms and ferns 
near the window and the vases and bowls that filled 
the rooms with their beauty and fragrance. 

“They seem absolutely needful to my existence;” 
lifting the pink and white blossoms to her face. 

And as she lay there smiling at him, the delicious 
indolence of her attitude, the odor of the flowers, the 
warm spring air that gently fanned the curtains to 
and fro, the sunlight stealing in through the half- 
turned shutters, the intoxicating influence of the scene 
stole over him. However this dreamy state of con- 
tentment was soon broken by Fidelia suddenly sit- 
ting straight up from her cushions, her voice dispell- 
ing the fascination. 

“ But I do not intend to lie here dreaming;” she 
said determinedly. “ There is so much reading and 
studying for me to do, and if my hands must be idle, 
my eyes and brain need not be. I shall take this 
opportunity of studying up several subjects that have 
been alluring my thoughts from their work.” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


76 

“ No, no! he exclaimed. “ Take my advice, my 
dear Mrs. Griscom. Revel in idleness for awhile. 
The wisdom of my advice will show itself when you 
resume your work. Do this, and you will find that 
a thousand and one thoughts have grown to matur- 
ity while you lay dreaming. — ‘ Reverie, like the rain 
of night, restores color and force to thoughts which 
have been blanched and wearied by the heat of the 
day.’ ” 

“Ah! Amiel! — He, too, was a dreamer!” 

It seemed to him there was just a shade of irony 
in this brief exclamation of hers, and he replied, half- 
apologetically : 

“ A man of brilliant promise, a wide range of in- 
tellect — ” 

“ And yet he left only a few poems and his Jour- 
nal;” she interrupted warmly. 

He shook his head with mock-gravity. “ You 
are my pupil, you know, and you must obey the in- 
structions of your teacher. ‘ All work and no play, 
makes Jack a dull boy,’ so you are granted a holi- 
day,” he said lightly. “ Read all the light stuff that 
pleases your fancy and passes away the time, but 
leave study alone.” 

How sweet it was to Fidelia to lie still and be 
commanded by him to do certain things. 

“ You are so good to me, Gordon,” and she im- 
pulsively stretched out her hand. 

His name on her lips sounded so natural, so in- 
effably sweet to him, and the light of gratitude shin- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


77 


ing out from her eyes was so great, that neither of 
them seemed to notice that this was the first time she 
had ever addressed him other than as “ Mr. Aller- 
ton.” 

He took her out-stretched hand between his own, 
and the longing to kiss it grew upon him. 

It is the greatest pleasure of my life ; ” he mur- 
mured in gentle caressing tones. His touch, light 
as it was, brought some recollection of yesterday, and 
her face flushed and tingled with a sensation between 
pain and pleasure. 

He sat holding her hand a minute and then raised 
his head thoughtfully : “ I allow myself few relaxa- 

tions from business, but I feel that the time is well 
spent. I derive as much pleasure as you claim 
profit.” 

“ You will be proud of me yet,” she exclaimed, 
her enthusiasm for future success lending a tinge of 
vanity to her tones. “ Fll show the world what a 
resolute woman can do ! ” and she drew away her 
hand with an unconscious but spirited movement. 

When I think,” she went on, her eyes brightening, 
” of the successful writers nowadays, and the quan- 
tities of books they turn out — 

“ And the fortunes they make by them,” said Aller- 
ton, imitating the quickness of her speech. 

“ — Yes, and that, too;” she smiled. I cannot 
work hard enough.” 

” True; ” he responded; “ Of the making of books 
thei e >s no end. But ‘ hast thou/ as the Philosopher 


A FIERY SWORD. 


78 

asks : ‘ Hast thou . well considered all that lies in this 
immeasurable froth-ocean we name Literature?’” 

“ Some people read books to acquire knowledge, 
others for the pleasure of seeing their own thoughts 
reflected; ” said Fidelia, “ and the majority of us now- 
adays feeling that we too are possessed of the ‘ divine 
afflatus,’ long to contribute our share.” 

“Yes; this is the day of fiction” — continued Al- 
lerton, in his slow, thoughtful way,” — when imagina- 
tion runs riot; but out of the thousands of novels 
printed annually, how many will survive after the froth 
of public favor has died out. What is there in them 
to stimulate or satisfy the ages to come?” 

“ I often wonder,” queried Fidelia, “ what be- 
comes of the thousands and thousands of volumes that 
are required to feed the insatiable maw of the pres- 
ent age? ” 

“ You are right — ^The wonder is not so much 
where they come from — ” laughed Allerton, “ because 
anybody can write a book nowadays — ^but whither they 
goeth? You must not forget though that it is qual- 
ity and not quantity that lives — ” 

“ It is the quantity though that increases your ex- 
checquer; ” she replied, “ and think of the royalties! ” 
brightly. 

Allerton nodded his head. “ I am afraid,” said 
he, “ that that is the motive underlying most of pres- 
ent-day publications. But why is it — ” he went on — 
“ this is the age of clever men and clever women, so 
why is it, with this vast wealth of ideas at hand, there 


A FIERY SWORD. 79 

are so few entitled to stand apart from the multitude 
and join the ranks of Genius?” 

“ I suppose,” laughed Fidelia, “ just as it takes 
nine tailors to make a man, it takes centuries to make 
a genius. At any rate it will take something strong- 
er than a Roentgen ray to discover one amongst pres- 
ent-day writers.” 

The lightness of her remark pleased him, and as 
he caught her eye the magnetism of her glance added 
a piquancy to her conversation that was iiresistible. 
And when he had an appreciative listener, he felt that 
like the brook he could “ go on forever.” 

“ The question is, are we not producing too many 
books?” asked Fidelia. 

She enjoyed these conversations and liked to put 
a leading question now and then to draw out his 
thoughts. Arch-charmer that she was, she knew 
how to keep him interested. 

‘‘ Yes, that is the question. But what would we 
do without them? It is a deplorable fact, however, 
that we may delve into this stupendous mass of books 
and find very little else than ^ words, words, words,’ 
as Hamlet said. The golden nuggets of literature 
are only to be found in the mines of past centuries; 
and their value is threatened to be lost under the 
overwhelming outpourings of the literary rubbish of 
the hour.” 

The stimulus of the conversation had brought a 
rich glow into Fidelia’s pale cheeks. From books 
they turned to other subjects, speaking of matters 


8o 


A FIERY SWORD. 


more personal, of their likes and dislikes; of success- 
ful people they knew and types of people they ad- 
mired. In all things and on all subjects there was 
similarity of taste and unity of thought. Their na- 
tures were in perfect harmony. 

As the shadows deepened within the room, they 
spoke in the low, even tones of those thoroughly at 
ease — that comfortable ease which comes from har- 
monious surroundings. There was a magnetic at- 
traction between them agreeable to both, and a warm, 
open friendliness in Fidelia’s tones and manner which 
conveyed a sense of intimacy — a friendliness that con- 
veyed geniality of spirit and thought. Her ever- 
changing impulses were refreshing. And as he stud- 
ied her face, softly framed in its nimbus of waving 
red-brown hair, her happy repose; the half-light of a 
dying day stealing in through the half-turned shut- 
ters spiritualized her, making the delicate pallor which 
her accident had caused an added charm, and in the 
gloaming, rounded the angles and gave curves where 
he had not noticed them before; her features became 
transfigured and he thought her positively beautiful. 

He had schooled his reason to be always on guard 
when with her, but the magnetism — the subtle witch- 
ery of the love-light, revealed ay unconsciously — from 
those glowing brown eyes disarmed him ; showed how 
thin the veneer of his resolve, how frail the self-im- 
posed barriers surrounding his heart. Under the 
influence of a powerful emotion, he fell on his knees 



YOU ARE MINE M INE ! ” 







A FIERY SWORD. 8l 

beside her couch, and drawing her towards him his 
lips met her own. 

“ Fidelia! I love you — I love you! ” his breath com- 
ing in quick little gasps of happiness. “ Why resist 
fate any longer? We cannot change our natures — 
you are my very life, my soul! I have long realized 
it. Have fought against it — but it is of no use. 
My Love for you is stronger than myself! I realized 
it yesterday when you lay as one dead in my arms. 
Oh, my sweet!” he murmured, “You are mine — 
mine! mine!” 

Thrilling with happiness in every nerve and fibre 
of her being, the blood coursing quickly through her 
veins, forgetful of the injured wrist, she drew her arm 
from its silken sling and clasped both hands about 
his neck. 

Within that moment was the happiness of an eter- 
nity for both. Within the next, with a cry of pain 
she had fallen back on the sofa. 

This brought Allerton quickly to his senses. 

“What have I done? — my God! What have I 
done ! ” he cried as her arms fell away limply to her 
side. He stood watching her a moment, dumb, 
breathless. A thousand thoughts surging through 
his agitated brain. At a loss whether to summon as- 
sistance or to wait until she recovered consciousness. 
The situation in which he suddenly found himself was 
a trying one. He realized that circumstances were 
fatally against him; that dangerous complications 
would arise. The long shadows lurking within the 


82 


A FIERY SWORD. 


room had grown into darkness; outside, the peace, 
the stillness of approaching night brooded over all. 
He knew that Mr. Griscom would be in at any minute. 
He felt that there was no word bitter enough to ex- 
press bis conduct. 

So anathematizing his folly — his madness, and 
overwhelmed with a sense of shame he left her — 


A FIERY SWORD. 


83 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“Ladies, ye are kittle cattle — don’t ye love your 
tittle-tattle 
O’er a dish of tea? 

Though ye’ve shod with silken sandals, ye are 
Goths, and ye are Vandals, as ye brew 
your home-made scandals 
O’er a dish of tea.” 

It was the last Friday in the month and the mem- 
bers of the Ladies^ Aid Society were to hold their reg- 
ular meeting that afternoon. These ladies met from 
week to week at their respective homes; where they 
could indulge in the social pleasures such an event 
afforded while making practical demonstration of their 
good intentions by fashioning numerous garments for 
the needy. 

Mrs. Allerton was the hostess on this occasion, 
and her comfortable big dining-room, with its large 
oriel window overlooking the Tennessee river, was 
the scene of industrious excitement. Years had ad- 
ded a ' motherliness ' — a roundness to Mrs. Allerton’s 
tall, angular frame; and though she did not at first 
sight prepossess every one in her favor — there being a 
lack of tact in her actions and speech that repelled 
rather than attracted; yet, unresponsive as she was. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


84 

looking into her cold, clear-blue eyes, deeply set un- 
der scanty lashes, lending an air of severity to her wide 
face with its lack of coloring, few failed to realize that 
its most characteristic expression was one of strict 
honesty of purpose. Her rigorous principles made 
her strictly just in her dealings with others. She 
scorned to accept a favor or place herself under an 
obligation she could not immediately repay double- 
fold. Her nature was not altogether an implacable 
one; like all persons of her disposition, she could be 
reached through her vanity; allow her to think ’twas 
her hand that guided the helm of affairs and none 
could excel her in cordiality. 

To-day, as she received her guests, her attitude was 
one of self-satisfaction; and while her manner was at 
all times consequential and imposing, it was on occa- 
sions of this kind that she not only looked so but had 
an exalted idea of her own importance. 

It was the freedom of speech, the simple, light, 
gossipy conversation and lack of constraint about these 
social meetings for sweet charity’s sake that Mrs. 
Allerton enjoyed most. There was no discussion of 
ethics or metaphysics to bore her with their impossible 
ideals. 

The chenille cover, its rich oriental coloring sub- 
dued by age, had been removed from the big mahog- 
any table and lay neatly folded on a chair at the back 
of the room, which for the time being seemed con- 
verted into a shop or dispensary of some kind. There 
were bolts of muslin and flannel stacked up on the 


A FIERY SWORD. 85 

dining-table, and little heaps of freshly cut flannel 
and muslin garments lay about on the floor, on the 
chairs, and piled up on the old-fashioned clawfoot 
sofa that sat stiff with the pride of generations, its 
high back pushed squarely against the wall. Through 
all the vicissitudes of her life Mrs. Allerton had clung 
to this old sofa — brought with her from the “ old 
country ” — and had persistently refused to part with it. 
There was an indefinable something in its angularity, 
the sleekness of its black horse-hair covering, its ap- 
parent air of scorn for the ease and luxuries of present 
day life that was characteristic of the woman’s own 
nature — it belonged to the past and seemed unable to 
fit itself into the niche of the present. 

She treasured this remnant of the splendor of the 
ancient house of her Scotch “ forbears,” — the Mac- 
Donald’s — as faithfully as she had preserved the little 
white ornament which had been tenderly removed from 
her bride’s-cake and kept under a glass case to occupy 
thereafter a conspicuous place in her parlor. 

Who shall say there was no sentiment in this wom- 
an’s heart? 

Poor Mrs. Allerton, her attention was strained to 
its utmost and her watchful eyes kept busy, as one 
by one her guests dropped in. She welcomed them 
heartily enough, but never failed to divert their atten- 
tion to some other seat “ far more comfortable than 
that high-backed old settle ” in tones that were de- 
ceptive. It was seldom that any one was allowed to 
seat themselves on this particular piece of furniture; 


86 


A FIERY SWORD. 


to which fact, no doubt, could be attributed its length 
of years and ostensible usefulness. 

, Mayme had long ago observed this peculiar watch- 
fulness and care on the part of Mrs. Allerton and nev- 
er failed to make for that particular seat when she 
visited the Allerton home. 

“ You will find this rocker more comfortable,” said 
Mrs. Allerton, swooping down upon her with a look 
of disapproval, and at the same time dragging for- 
ward a low chair, as Mayme with a mischievous gleam 
in her eyes was preparing to settle herself upon the 
sofa. 

Mayme stood and looked at the chair before her a 
minute, and then said in an undecided way : “ Oh — 
I think ril sit in the window.” Then, with mis- 
chief still lurking in her countenance, she turned and 
faced Mrs. Allerton a moment as though undecided 
as to whether she would violate the unwritten law of 
the household and occupy the forbidden seat in de- 
fiance of Mrs. Allerton’s unexpressed but well known 
wishes on the subject, or meekly settle herself in one 
corner of the bay-window where she could look out 
upon the river. 

Yes, yes! Do sit in the window! It is so much 
cooler there,” replied Mrs. Allerton eagerly. 

There was little warmth in her expression and less 
cordiality in her manner towards Mayme. She had 
never liked her and gave her but little encouragement 
to visit her at any time, and on such occasions as this, 
she simply tolerated her presence. Amongst her 


A FIERY SWORD. 


87 

friends in the old country, Mrs. Allerton had the repu- 
tation of being “ ower fond o’ ruling folk,” and those 
whom she failed to bring under her subjection she 
didna fesh hersel’ about much.” 

Mayme was too young to appreciate the value of 
diplomacy and consequently had never tried to propi- 
tiate Mrs. Allerton in any way towards herself. An- 
other reason for Mrs. Allerton’s dislike. 

Finally when all were seated, each with their par- 
ticular bit of sewing, Mrs. Allerton felt that she could 
relax her attention. As she stood by the old mahog- 
any table, the central figure in the room, scissors in 
hand, carefully cutting and measuring out work for 
the others, and with every one appealing to her 
judgment, or deferring their own opinions to hers, her 
vanity was flattered and she tasted the sweets of au- 
thority. 

Meanwhile there was a perfect hum of voices and 
tongues clacked faster than needles flew. When they 
had exhausted every subject pertaining to church mat- 
ters, from the minister’s last text to his wife’s new 
bonnet, they fell to discussing each other’s clothes — 
a favorite topic with women — what they had, what 
they intended to have, and how it should be made. 
This last subject created an air of confidence and this 
mood led easily to one in which they dissected their 
friends, morally and physically. And as they sat in 
little groups apart, they did not scruple at expressing 
in undertones their opinions of each other or criticis- 
ing their hostess, So while they tempted not Satan 


88 


A FIERY SWORD. 


with idle hands their tongues curled deliciously over 
the latest bit of ‘‘news,” doing more damage than 
their hands did good. 

Presently some one wondered “ if Mrs. Griscom 
would come that afternoon?” 

“'Others remembered that they had not seen her 
since the day of the picnic.” 

“ And how was her arm? ” 

“ Of course if she came she would hardly be able 
to use her hand?” 

“ She will not be here, to-day,” answered Mayme. 
“ I was there, yesterday, and she had been in bed all 
the week. A sort of fever followed her accident,” 
she explained as the others looked at her inquiringly. 

“Oh! Oh! Oh! So sorry! So sorry!” chor- 
used a half dozen voices. 

Their sympathetic glances touching Mayme she 
continued : 

“ I never saw such a change in any one in so short 
a time; there were great hollows in her cheeks, and 
she is so white and thin her eyes look like two burnt 
holes in a blanket.” 

“Dear me! I must go and see her,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Allerton, as she straightened herself up and stood 
looking wonderingly at Mayme. “ I asked Gordon 
to call in the next day and see how she was,” she 
explained, “ and he said she was sitting up quite 
cheery-like when he went. He did not say very much 
about it, so I concluded it was nothing serious.” 


A KIERY SWORD. 


89 

Mrs. Allerton was, to say the least, a practical wom- 
an, and after delivering herself of this sympathetic 
speech, she resumed her cutting with energy. 

“ I think she studies and writes too much,” said 
Elva Longley. “ I couldn’t do it.” 

And looking at her no one doubted the truth of 
her statement. 

She is so ambitious! — such close confinement,” 
she continued, as she received an encouraging smile, 
“ is not good for any one I ” 

“ Yes, — it is very bad for one’s digestion! ” sighed 
Miss Hawkins, an austere spinster of uncertain age, 
as she measured off a length of thread for her needle 
and sat up briskly interested, now that the conversa- 
tion had turned on one of her “ dear ” friends. 

Her sharp little nose scented a feeling of animosity 
among all present towards the absent one, and she 
so longed to hear just what they thought of her. 

Fidelia had never tried to ingratiate herself with 
those present. Their frivolous chatter had no charms 
for her. In fact, finding but little pleasure in the so- 
ciety of women generally, she took no pains to propi- 
tiate them or to establish herself in their good graces. 
Consequently while most of them pretended to admire 
her and esteem her very highly, they never failed to 
join sides against her when the opportunity offered 
itself; some openly expressing their disapproval; 
others by raising an eyebrow at the right moment, 
a proper inflection of voice, or with gentle innuendoes, 
these weapons which women keep sheathed for their 


A FIERY SWORD. 


90 

friends — succeeded in conveying more than words 
could express. 

“ All the men are simply raving over her,” some 
one remarked for the sake of creating argument. 

“ Oh, that is because of her auburn hair, — with its 
burnished copper tints!” spoke up Mrs. Ferrier, the 
little foreigner, whose own complexion left much to 
be desired. 

Titian, you mean! ” murmured some one else sar- 
castically. 

‘‘ They used to call it ' carrotty,’ in my young days,” 
said Miss Hawkins, and her nose raised its sharp, lit- 
tle point a trifle higher, as she sniffed the air con- 
temptuously. 

“ But it’s too dark to be ‘ carrotty,’ ” insisted an- 
other. 

“ Well? Did you ever see a man that wasn’t 
crazy after a red-headed woman?” asked old Mrs. 
Aitken, as she raised her wrinkled little face and 
white head and peered sharply around over her spec- 
tacles at the others. “ It was so in my young days, 
and it is the same yet! ” 

“ But I wouldn’t call her good looking, her face 
has a washed out, colorless look most of the time,” 
insinuated another. 

“ Never mind,” said old Mrs. Aiken, shaking her 
head knowingly, ‘‘ she has her attractions, — for the 
men;” she added. 

‘‘ Mr. Allerton, I know, thinks more of her than 
his wife,” said Miss Hawkins, warming to her subject. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


91 


“ ’ Sh ! ” said some one, holding up a warning fin- 
ger? And with a glance in Mrs. Allerton’s direction, 
“ she might hear you.” 

“Do you mean better than he likes his wife?” 
laughed another. 

“ Oh! No! No! ” she replied, “ but that would 
not be so strange when you compare the two wom- 
en,” she said softly. 

“ I confess, though, I cannot see what the men find 
in her to rave about. She is always away up in the 
clouds above me,” spoke up Elva Longley. 

She had sat virtuously silent as long as she could; 
she did not believe in talking about one’s friends, but 
the temptation was too great to longer remain out 
of this discussion. And when it was a question of the 
likes and dislikes of a man she felt she had a right 
to share their admiration. 

“She makes me fidgety!” exclaimed plump little 
Mrs. Jenkins. “ I prefer women who keep their feet 
planted on the solid earth.” 

“ Of the earth, earthy,” said Mrs. Perrier. “ That 
suits me, too ! ” she affirmed. “/ have no spirituality. 
I cannot think those ' higher thoughts,’ ” shrugging 
her shoulders and spreading her hands out with a 
little foreign gesture ; “ resting on the edge of some 
empyrean cloudlet, feasting on ambrosia — the nectar 
of the Gods!” and her tones grew bitterly sarcastic, 
as she recalled some fancied slight from Fidelia. 

These last words reached Mayme’s ears where she 


A FIERY SWORD. 


92 

sat huddled up in the window struggling with the gar- 
ment she was trying to put together properly and try- 
ing to gaze up and down the river at the same time 
at things that were more interesting to her than the 
work in hand. She dropped her work and raising 
her head quickly to one side, looked from one to an- 
other of the little group that sat near her, listening 
with blazing eyes; a defiant expression creeping into 
their depths, she arose and stepped into the room. 
She could stand it no longer. And with hot, flaming 
cheeks and her breath coming fast, she said in her 
coldest, most cutting tones: 

“ I fear you are growing satirical. Ladies! ” 

Just how much she had heard they did not know. 
In fact, they had quite forgotten the little silent figure 
there in the window so near them. 

“ I think you do cousin Fidelia much injustice,” 
she continued, icily. Besides,” and her tones grew 
more scornful, “ it is exceedingly unkind of you — and 
— she on a sick-bed, too I ” There was a perceptible 
tremor in her voice as she uttered these last words. 

Her disapproval and disgust further showed itself 
in the heightening color overspreading her brow and 
neck, and in the quick way in which she resented their 
expressions by picking up her work and deliberately 
turning her back upon them all as she sat down again 
in the window. For Mayme had a true affection and 
admiration for Mrs. Griscom, and was still young 
enough to betray a childish loyalty to her friends when 
hearing them maligned. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


93 


Mrs. Allerton, whose attention had only been at- 
tracted when Mayme spoke up in her sharp, quick 
voice, and had not heard the drift of the conversation 
from where she sat, looked at Mayme coldly and did 
not inquire further into the cause of her sharp retort. 
In her heart she detested this “ pert young minx,” as 
she termed her in her thoughts, and only looked upon 
this action on Mayme’s part as another evidence of 
her “ impudence.” 

The others, whose voices had ceased when 
Mayme’s excited and angry tones were heard above 
the hum of the room, picked up their own little “ tid- 
bits ” of gossip and resumed their work. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Allerton returning home from his 
office, heated and fatigued by his long walk on this 
warm spring day, had on hearing voices in the house, 
seated himself on the piazza just outside the window, 
with the intention of cooling off a bit before joining 
them for “ refreshments.” He was a popular man 
with all women: capable of flattering the personal 
vanity of each in so delicate and intrusive a manner 
they were immediately placed at their ease in his pres- 
ence, and lagging tongues and spirits usually quick- 
ened and brightened up at his entrance. 

But to-day he felt out of sorts. And as he re- 
moved his hat and sat fanning himself with it he had 
no relish for the society of those indoors. For a time 
their light chatter and the variableness of their conver- 
sation reached him without attracting any special no- 
tice, but on hearing Fidelia's name his attention was 


A FIERY SWORD. 


94 

quickenea to what was to follow. At first their re- 
marks amused him. It was the old story of the crows 
picking the eagle’s eyes out. But when his own name 
was linked with hers! It became a different story. 
He felt that they were becoming entirely too personal 
in their remarks! He could not stand it a minute 
longer! Exasperated and enraged at their audacity, 
the hardihood of their idle gossip, he arose impulsively 
to enter the room. Then, on second thought, mak- 
ing an effort to control his temper, he sat down again. 

“ If he and Fidelia,” he reflected, “ were already 
the subject of idle talk among their friends, who had 
a better right to know their opinion? Besides — fore- 
warned is forearmed ! ” 

But this philosophical conclusion was not comfort- 
ing. The knowledge that they were being so dis- 
cussed — their names linked together in this malicious 
way, grew more and more unpleasant. 

“ Had it come to this? ” 

And his morbid, excited fancy exaggerated with 
twofold meaning every word that was borne out upon 
him. He longed to rush into the room and defend 
himself, defend her; but was restrained from so doing 
by the thought that this action on his part would only 
give food for more gossip. 

He grew hot and cold by turns, as he forced him- 
self to remain calmly within sound of their voices; 
every nerve at its highest tension; quivering with an- 
ger, shame, reproach and distress. His heart was 


A FIERY SWORD. 


95 


torn with conflicting emotions. He forgot that the 
martyrdom of having to listen to their chatter was a 
self-imposed one. 

The import of their conversation was so painfully 
unexpected, it filled him with a desire to escape from 
the house, to be alone, in order to reflect upon what 
he had heard; his overwrought imagination suggested 
inevitable conclusions not dreamed of by the empty 
heads of those whose remarks had turned his anguish- 
ed mind into a hitherto unthought of channel. With 
his connate sense of honor, the possibility of any one’s 
ever misunderstanding his actions or misconstruing 
his interest in his friend’s advancement or the fre- 
quency of his visits to her home, had never occurred 
to him. With an indifference born of a knowledge 
of his own honorable intentions, he had never given 
this issue of the subject a thought. 

He left the house, his heart beating violently, and 
walked aimlessly and furiously for hours, hardly 
knowing or caring in which direction. The necessity 
for physical exertion seemed the only clear thought in 
his brain. He must walk, walk, walk! This seem- 
ed the only antidote. His conscience had lashed 
him with its bitter scourge of remorse unceasingly 
since his mad conduct of a week ago. And his mind 
with this additional weight upon it was in a feverish, 
frenzied state of excitement. He had hardly eaten 
or slept since the night he left her so abruptly — so 
cruelly! And, yet, he had felt powerless under the 
circumstances to have acted differently — “ the con- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


96 

sciousness of wrong brought with it the conscious- 
ness of weakness.” His leaving her as he had 
was brutal. But it was imperative — the only way 
to save embarrassing explanations and admissions of 
far-reaching complications. The only way, in fact, 
to prevent an esclandre. It was the hour of Mr. 
Griscom’s home-coming, and his entrance at that mo - 
ment would have betrayed both. Allerton shudder- 
ed at thought of it. The violated trust and confi- 
dence! It was only due to his simple, unquestioning 
faith in his wife — in both — that he had not already 
suspected their secret. His conduct was that of a 
coward! he told himself. He had resisted the de- 
mands of common humanity in not calling or making 
inquiries as to her condition. He was tortured with 
the thought of her suffering. Just Heaven! He 
was bound hand and foot! He might have made 
inquiry of Mr. Griscom — but the thought of his weak- 
ness and its possibilities so overcame him he felt that 
he could not have faced so soon again the man to 
whom he had done this injury. 

His brain swung feverishly from one thought to 
another. 

He recalled his first meeting with Fidelia. It was 
not her beauty that attracted him. She had no 
special claim to beauty — unless it lay in the rich color- 
ing of her hair, or in the depths of her glorious brov/n 
eyes. There was an underlying charm of mind that 
captivated him. In this lay her peculiar fascination. 
He remembered with stabbing distinctness how often 


A FIERY SWORD. 


97 


he had sought her society; how many times he had 
planned ways of meeting her; of going to her house; 
of talking with her. Yes — he alone was culpable ! 

How subtle is love! 

It does not always make its presence known with 
a rush of feeling that is unmistakable; but steals into 
our hearts insidiously under the guise of pity, interest, 
friendship, — and a thousand masquerading titles. 

His man’s prudence should have foreseen this re- 
sult and warned him. 

As the dusk deepened, his walk led him towards 
Cameron Hill. Here in a state of utter exhaustion 
he threw himself upon the ground. In his mad wan- 
derings he had not noticed the friendly presence nor 
the silent tread of his faithful little old Scotch terrier, 
as she trudged along wearied and panting by his 
side, nor did he take heed of the dumb sympathy in 
the mutely questioning eyes as she stood for a mo- 
ment looking at him and then lay down contentedly 
near him. For a time he lay there insensible to all 
material things; insensible to the fact that darkness 
and night were creeping apace, closing in about him. 
Slowly the noises of the day ebbed out, and as one 
by one the stars appeared, he looked at them in cold 
wonder. His thoughts were no longer coherent ones 
— if he thought at all. But the principles of morality 
and honor inherent within a noble heart are not so 
easily turned aside, they clamored at the throne of 
Reason for reinstatement, and his great will strug- 
gling out from the slough of despond his morbid fan- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


98 

cy had created, awoke to a sense of reality and assert- 
ed itself. 

The little Scotch terrier, rested from her long tramp 
after him, had risen and with a sharp, quick, impatient 
bark to attract his attention, thrust her cold little noz- 
zle into his hand. 

“ Spitfire! You poor, wee doggie! ” he said won- 
deringly. And then, as she snuggled her warm little 
body close to his side, he realized that she must have 
followed him all the way from home that afternoon. 
“ Poor dumb creature — faithful little friend ! ” 

He felt the chilliness of the evening and shivered 
as he drew himself up from the ground. There was 
no moon, but myriads of stars blinked coldly at him 
from above; and there below him — ^to his right — flow- 
ed the river, silently, peacefully, with all its possibil- 
ities of oblivion. But this thought — this means of 
relief had not even suggested itself to his fevered, 
frenzied imagination. The little city nestling in the 
shadow of grand old Lookout, which loomed up so 
clearly beyond the great shafts of fire from its fur- 
naces and foundries, held all that was dear to him; and 
its lights beckoned alluringly, as he shook off the 
lethargic feeling which controlled him and turned his 
weary steps homeward. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


99 


CHAPTER IX. 

“A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes look’d love to eyes which spake again, 

And all went merry as a marriage bell.” 

“You do advance your cunning more and more 
When truth kills truth.” 

It was in the good old ante helium days that Col- 
onel Stanwood had wooed and won his northern bride. 
He had deferred assuming the role of a Benedict for 
so long that mothers with marriageable daughters had 
given him up as a hopeless devotee of bachelor-dom 
and despaired of their darlings ever dispensing hos- 
pitality from the grand old mansion at St. Elmo, with 
its wide lawns, its terraced walks amongst the “ whisp- 
ering leaves and the solemn sough ” of the mountain 
forest back of it. Consequently they were at first 
disposed to resent this bringing of a “ Yankee ” into 
their midst. But his bride was youthful, and with 
her tractable nature easily adapted the austerity of 
her northern views and training to the warmth and 
geniality of his southern ways. Adopting her hus- 
band’s sunny land and his people for her own she soon 
became a universal favorite, and the South had no 
warmer defender during its troubles. 


L.ofC. 


lOO A FIERY SWORD. 

It was not, however, until after the closing of the 
war that a daughter had been given them. So small 
wonder that Mayme, an only child, tutored by such a 
father and mother grew up a “ spoiled little rebel,” — 
as her father sometimes affectionately called her — 
and patriotic at all times to her dear Southland. 
Warmhearted, impulsive and loyal. These qualities 
were hers by inheritance. Although the death of 
her mother early in her teens had left her practically 
the youthful mistress of the big, old-fashioned man- 
sion, she had, in her light-hearted acceptance of its 
responsibilities, while acquiring self-reliance and a cer- 
tain womanly dignity, lost none of her childish en- 
thusiasm. 

She had been fluttering about the rambling, roomy 
old house all day. Changing a bit of decoration here, 
or adding another waxlight there; then flying into 
the kitchen to admonish the servants as to how they 
were to conduct themselves that evening, or to re- 
mind the garrulous old woman who presided there 
in great dignity, that “ there must be lots of sillabub 
and gallons of sherbet, for everybody in town is com- 
ing;” laughing good-naturedly at Aunt Chloe, nod- 
ding her head and scolding away to herself all the 
time she was at work. Yes, yes, honey! ” she would 
exclaim in answer to Mayme’s questions, “ Don’ go 
an’ gib yo’sef so much on-easiness. I’se done seen 
’bout all dey refresherments. Yo’ can ’pend on An’ 
Chloey fo’ it all; anyway — I reckon dis yere old nig- 
ger ain’ clean forgot how yo’ pore Ma’ yuse to hab 


A FIERY SWORD. 


lOI 


sich things!” She never failed to make reference 
to the confidence Mayme’s mother reposed in her 
when she felt she “ Mus' jistify herse’f.” 

At last, Mayme stood before the long cheval mir- 
ror, her face flushed with excitement and dimpling 
with pleasure as she added the finishing touches to 
her toilette. She twined an old-fashioned necklet — 
three strands of tiny pearls — that had been her moth- 
er’s wedding gift from her father, about the shining 
masses of her hair, and as she surveyed herself from 
all sides with satisfaction she felt a thrilling ecstatic 
love of life; she longed to hug somebody, — anybody, 
for the mere pleasure of living. 

Impatient for the day to pass she had dressed 
“ hours before time,” even delaying this process as 
long as possible to fill in the time that must elapse 
before the arrival of her guests. 

“ I do hope Cousin Fidelia will come early ; ” she 
thought, with one last, lingering look of admiration 
over her shoulder in the long mirror. “ I do so want 
her approval of everything.” 

She left the house and wandered about the old- 
fashioned garden that stretched away to its left. She 
felt the eyes of all the servants upon her, as they hur- 
ried back and forth through the long-latticed, vine- 
covered passage that led from the big house to the 
kitchen, and moved about as primly and decorously 
as she could, her hands clasped behind her, up and 
down the graveled, grass-bordered walks; stopping 
now and then to pull down a rose-tree heavy with 


102 


A FIERY SWORD. 


blossoms, inhaling their full-blown fragrance. The 
sun was lending a soft mellow light, casting a golden 
halo over all life, animate and inanimate, tiny-throat- 
ed humming birds darted swiftly from flower to flow- 
er, overhead a golden-breasted thrush poured forth 
its soul in song and just beyond the grounds in the 
mountain forest the shrill notes of the mock-bird. 
And in the midst of this “ tangle of roses and bird- 
song,” this brilliant mass of variegated verbenas, flam- 
ing yellow and scarlet poppies, pink and white holly- 
hocks, petunias and four o’clocks, Mayme looked a 
delicious vision of loveliness in her dainty white swiss 
gown, looped here and there with bunches of moss 
roses — delicate pink buds and green coloring against 
its snowy whiteness. 

Several hours later, the interior of the house, old 
Colonial in style, with its one-storied wings stretching 
right and left, was beautifully illuminated with myriads 
of wax lights, cunningly shaded in soft colors. 

The scene outdoors, a bewildering one, a veritable 
mid-summer night’s dream. Twinkling lights from 
Japanese lanterns festooned across the lawn, swaying 
here and there like fire-flies amongst the trees. 
Sweet strains of music bursting forth from honey- 
suckle arbors, had its dying refrain caught up by other 
musicians, hidden away in fancifully constructed little 
summer-houses, scattered like fairy-nooks about the 
grounds. 

Here and there wraithlike figures, that made one 
wonder if the grave had yielded up its dead, trailed 


A FIERY SWORD. IO3 

their white draperies after them or joined in the mazes 
of a dance. The far-away stars blinked into insignifi- 
cance beside a full June-moon, suspended like a big 
yellow ball from the clear blue of the heavens, making 
fanciful patterns as it glinted through the leafy fo- 
liage, or shone resplendent across the lawn; its soft, 
white light a contrast to the multi-colored glow from 
the lanterns. 

The whole scene was a strange one; impressive, 
weird and eerie. 

Such a one as Tam O’Shanter must have fancied 

“When glimmering thro’ the groaning trees, 

Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze; 

Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing; 

And loud resounded mirth and dancing.” 

Mayme, whose vivacious nature was always seek- 
ing surprises for her friends, had evolved this fanciful 
idea of having her guests masquerade as “ ghosts,” 
and upon the invitations the edict went forth “ghostly 
draperies de rigneur!' 

She had been indefatigable in her efforts to make 
this novel moonlight affair a success; she personally 
planned and superintended all the decorations and had 
worked hard for the last two or three days, but the 
elasticity of youth knows not fatigue, and to-night 
she flitted amongst her guests Titania-like, childish in 
her delight. 

She had pleaded hard for Marjorie and Donald to 
be allowed to come, “ just for a little while, dear Mrs. 
^llerton, to see the lights and to familiarize them- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


104 

selves with the absurdity of being afraid of ghosts.” 
And she took a keen delight in the excitement of 
these children as they rushed about the grounds try- 
ing to discover those they knew; and she still, al- 
though merging into her twentieth year, enjoyed a 
wild romp or game of hide-and-seek with those half 
as many years younger. It was this youthful exuber- 
ance of spirits that made her attractive alike to young 
and old. 

As the great clock in the hall sonorously toned the 
hour of midnight, a servant in white and gold livery 
and powdered wig, took his place on the square porti- 
co, with its four large, white pillars reaching to the 
ceiling of the second story, and sounded a reveille from 
an old bugle, which was the signal for unmasking, 
but which reminded one of the dead being recalled 
to their tombs from disporting themselves on earth, 
as these funereal-swathed, wraithlike figures trooped 
from all parts of the lawn up the wide steps and into 
the broad hall that stretched full-length across the 
house, and sought their dressing-rooms. From 
which they soon laughingly emerged, clothed in their 
right minds and more worldly colors, ready for the 
refreshments that awaited them in the large and spa- 
cious dining-room — none had been served on the 
lawn, as these erstwhile spirits of a nether world would 
have disdained anything so material, and if there had 
been surreptitious yieldings to mundane desires, huge 
bowls of punch and a plentiful supply of ices and ju- 
leps were always to be found within doors. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


105 

As they entered the house General Southmaide’s 
alacrity in seeking out Mayme and engaging her for 
not only the supper but the first dance afterward was 
to be emulated by her more youthful admirers. 

As she sat by his side at the table, dainty and 
winsome, her piquant face, with its retroussee nose, up- 
turned and smiling, her bright, happy nature reflect- 
ed in all her movements, she seemed to him but 

“ A little less than the angels.” 

To see her laugh was a pleasure, and her spontaneous 
outbursts of merriment was infectious. 

As the first strains of one of Strauss’s delightful 
waltzes subdued the animated chatter that filled the 
room. General Southmaide arose and it was almost 
with a misgiving of heart that he laid his hand with 
a caressing half-timid touch upon her little round, 
white arm; and as they moved away, their steps in 
perfect rythm with the music, he thought as he noted 
her upturned face, flushed and eager for enjoyment, 
that he had never seen one more beautiful, more daz- 
zlingly lovely. 

“ Why was it,” he asked himself, as they floated 
dreamily through the waltz, “ that there was always 
an accompanying strain of sadness mingled with his 
pleasure in this adorable creature’s society?” 

“ Oh, the lost years of Youth! Who can regain 
them?” he thought sadly, but his smile was none the 
less tender, and, perhaps, there was an unconscious 


Io6 A FIERY SWORD. 

tightening of his arm around the supple little waist, 
as she looked up askance and smiled, an innocent, co- 
quettish smile, her eyes sparkling beneath the shyly, 
half-closed lids. 

All of General Southmaide’s actions were filled 
with knightly courtesy and devotion, and, yet, without 
sacrifice of dignity, he entered into the spirit, the ani- 
mation of the hour with so much sprightliness, his 
manner was an inspiration to young and old. 

There was dancing in the lofty and spaceful parlor 
and library, which with their wide oaken doors thrown 
back formed a capacious ball-room, and those look- 
ing on, as handsome men and beautifully gowned 
women in delicate silks and daintily sprayed organ- 
dies moved in and out the great rooms, beneath the 
soft glow of the many-colored waxlights, all keenly 
alive to the enjoyment of the evening, — pronounced 
it the most brilliant affair of the season. 

The lights, the music, the gaiety, the festal air 
of the whole, had its effect on all, even on Mrs. Aller- 
ton’s sluggish temperament, and she became quite 
kittenish in her way as Colonel Stanwood waltzed her 
around with all the vigor of his more youthful days, 
bringing her a huge palmetto fan and an ice after- 
ward; and when, upon leaving her, he placed his hand 
upon his heart and bowed low with a mockingly af- 
fected air, — heavy as he was, there was always a grace- 
ful dignity about his movements — she tapped him 
lightly on the cheek with her fan, and a feeling new 


A FIERY SWORD. IO7 

to her breast crept into her heart and tarried there for 
a time. 

In this gracious mood, born of the moment, she 
extended both hands cordially to Mrs. Griscom when, 
as the music died away, she and Allerton stopped just 
in front of her. She treated Fidelia at all times with 
a formal cordiality, her manner never overflowing 
with warmth, and this effusive greeting was all the 
more surprising. With a self-complacent air she de- 
clined their invitation to join them in a promenade 
outside on the plea of being overheated, and bade Fi- 
delia in kindly tones to “ wrap a shawl about her 
shoulders unless she wanted a summer-cold.” 

As Fidelia and Gordon Allerton strolled out 
through the hall to the wide veranda, they passed Mr. 
Griscom standing with a group of men near the door. 
His eyes caught Fidelia’s and he smiled with approv- 
ing admiration. He himself did not dance but he 
enjoyed watching others, especially if his wife was 
amongst them. He would liked to have joined them 
and half turned to do so, but thinking that their con- 
versation always turned upon subjects in which he 
was not particularly interested he contented himself 
with saying: 

“Turn about’s fair play, Allerton; I will entertain 
your better-half for awhile.” 

“Do!” laughingly responded Allerton. “You 
will find her in the back parlor, resting from her dance. 
I know it must have been a laborious exertion — she 
is not given to dancing.” 


Io8 A FIERY SWORD. 

“Laborious? I see! Colonel Stanwood, you 
mean.” 

“ Yes, — for both, doubtless.” 

“The Green-eyed Monster; eh?” 

“ Heaven forbid!” laughed Allerton, Mrs. A. and 
I have had one or two dances this evening and take 
my word for it I know whereof I speak.” 

Mr. Griscom smiled but said nothing. 

“ It is a good thing you are not a follower of Dame 
Terpsichore, Griscom; you would need all my sym- 
pathy.” 

“Oh, I don’t know?” half doubtfully, “I some- 
times think I miss a good deal of pleasure,” and he 
looked at his wife fondly. 

Allerton had not since that fateful afternoon vol- 
untarily sought Mrs. Griscom’s presence, but in their 
chance meetings, always it so happened in the pres- 
ence of others, there had been no lessening of courtesy 
on his part nor lack of cordiality on hers, but that 
their relations were under a restraint was felt intuitive- 
ly by both. Once or twice he had met Mr. Griscom 
on the avenue and to his pressing invitations he had 
pleaded a rush of business as his excuse for not call- 
ing oftener. 

But here at Colonel Stanwood’s they had natural- 
ly been thrown much together during the evening, 
and in the freedom of intermingling with the other 
guests much of the self-conscious restraint that had 
characterized former chance meetings had gradually 
worn off; so that when they found themselves alone 


A FIERY SWORD. IO9 

for the first time since that direful occasion, which had 
been fraught with so much of unhappiness for both, 
there was not that intangible something which each 
had expected would cast its chill shadow between 
them. 

Much of their old-time friendliness and repose of 
manner returned as they promenaded the long veran- 
da stretching full length the house and around the 
one-storied wings. They walked its length several 
times and then passed down the low steps at its end 
and seated themselves on a rustic gnarled-vine set- 
tee, which was placed under a wide spreading mag- 
nolia tree that added the voluptuous fragrance of its 
large ivory-hued and waxen blossoms to the warmth 
of the June night. 

As they seated themselves Fidelia airily hummed 
the last few bars of the waltz they had just finished, 
swaying her head lightly and beating time upon the 
soft emerald turf beneath her feet. In her heart was 
the infiniteness of happiness, — a happiness tinged with 
the sorrow of tears. She could have laughed or she 
could have wept, so closely interwoven are the minor 
and major harmonies of life, while an outburst of 
either would not have surprised her. 

Both were conscious that they were steadily drift- 
ing — that they were gradually being torn from the 
haven of good resolutions, to which they clung so 
tenaciously, by the cruel strength of a reciprocated 
love which had in it more than the mere satisfying 
the delights of a momentary passion that would burn 


no A FIERY SWORD. 

itself out with its own intensity. Between them was 
that intellectual oneness, soul-completeness, that im- 
aginativeness, that visions a life so alluring, so en- 
trancing, that had they been free to have added their 
love for each other, would have made one of the hap- 
piest unions on earth. 

The melody on her lips gradually ceased and they 
sat silent, deliriously yielding their senses to the witch- 
ery of the night — the moonlit scene about them, the 
sounds of music from within borne out upon the warm 
summer breeze; the whispering hush of the heavy 
leaves above their heads, the sensuous sweetness of 
the magnolia was like new wine in their veins. 

Allerton was the first to break into the tense si- 
lence that enchained them, and his speech was charac- 
teristic of the thoughts that had filled his waking hours 
and mingled with his dreams for so long. It was as 
if they both had turned back the leaves of Life 
to a certain chapter that held them — the climax of 
which chapter had become a living memory — and 
when he raised her hand to his lips and said briefly: 

“Am I — am I forgiven?” 

She knew instantly for what he implored pardon. 
His eyes had held this question in their depths for so 
long, the words came not as a surprise to her. 

She sat perfectly still. She dared not trust her- 
self to speak, so remained silent; her eyes sought the 
far-away stars as if imploring wisdom from their im- 
mutable infiniteness; and her lips tightened with an 


A FIERY SWORD. 


Ill 


indrawn movement as she held back the tears that ob- 
scured her vision. 

This song of joy with its minor cadences that swell- 
ed her heart with happiness, and yet — so much of un- 
happiness, must be hushed. She lifted a waxen-like 
petal that floated down from the magnolia tree and 
nervously bit into its creamy-white surface leaving 
a brownish imprint of her teeth. 

Allerton watched her a moment and then con- 
tinued : 

“ I have fought the battle out with my heart, — and 
— and with my God. I have weighed the pros and 
cons of the future as nearly as I in my terrestial insig- 
nificance can, and — I have come to the conclusion 
that — ” he spoke slowly, as a man does who weighs 
the import of each word before uttering it — “ this fight- 
ing against a feeling — God-given — is useless. It 
is a natural feeling — born of our intellectual affinity — 
strengthened by a lack of such companionship in our 
home-life. Under such conditions that we should 
grow to love each other seems but a predestined fact. 
That my life — your life — is linked with another’s is 
the wilfulness of a fate that kept us apart and un- 
known to each other until it is too late to break the 
ties with which Life’s destiny has bound us. Of 
course, divorces are sought as means to an end — ” 
he hesitated — “ but you know, and, I know, — that such 
an end could not be obtained without — ” he paused 
a moment — . 


II2 


A FIERY SWORD. 


Fidelia looked at him quickly and shuddered as if 
with cold. 

“No, — no!” she exclaimed, “The innocent must 
not suffer to bring us happiness!” 

“ I agree with you,” he said sadly, “ and we need 
not give that side of the matter a second thought.” 

He spoke calmly and dispassionately, as one who 
reasoned from one premise in all directions. 

“ It is not my wish,” he went on in his slow, 
thoughtful way, “ nor do I believe it yours, that we 
should make ourselves forever miserable and unhap- 
py by striving vainly to forget each other — without 
admitting that such a thing is wholly impossible, it 
could only be made possible by a complete separa- 
tion, estrangement and annihilation of the friendship 
now existing between two families, and this would not 
only entail certain explanations at home but would 
give rise to comment and gossip abroad. That we 
love each other is no longer deniable; circumstances 
have resolved themselves into a choice of one of two 
things — submit to the inevitable or separate. We 
are told that of two evils we should choose the lesser, 
and submission seems fraught with less sad results. 
I do not ask you to be unfaithful or unfailing in your 
duty to your home and husband, and — God helping 
me — I will be faithful to my own. But I need your 
love, your companionship, your sympathy, to make 
life endurable, just as you need me and mine as a 
help and inspiration to your work.” 

During this calm, apparently cold and passionless 


A FIERY SWORD. II3 

Statement of facts, Fidelia vouchsafed no word in re- 
ply. She had not stirred except to pick up another 
white petal from the ground, stripping it gently 
through her fingers until it assumed a leathern-like 
hue — the tears welled up into her eyes, drenching 
their long, light lashes like a gentle rain, but she kept 
her face resolutely turned away from him that he 
might not see them. In her heart she silently re- 
sisted his sophistical pleadings with all the strength 
of her woman’s nature made stronger by early train- 
ing for rectitude and loyalty to a husband’s claims. 
But in its depths she knew her weakness and that in 
her love for Gordon Allerton she could not do other- 
wise than yield to his opinion and float with the cur- 
rent wherever Fate might choose to drift them. It 
was sweet — this drifting out onto an unknown sea, 
and, but for her habit of self-control, she would have 
flung herself into his arms and sobbed out her sorrow 
upon his breast. 

His argument had been so exhaustive she felt she 
had nothing to offer for or against it. 

Allerton waited for her reply. 

After a long silence, she arose and laying her hand 
in his said with peculiar stress upon her words: 

“Come, my friend! The night air grows chilly; 
we will go indoors.” 

The emphasis she placed upon “ my friend ” be- 
trayed her submission, and Allerton, thankful that his 
candid speech had not further estranged them, arose 
and silently accompanied her within doors. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


II4 

Mr. and Mrs. Griscom were among the first to go, 
and as Allerton pressed her hand in good-night, he 
said something about the pleasure of seeing them 
soon again. 

Mr. and Mrs. Griscom’s leaving seemed the sig- 
nal for a general departure. Mayme and her father 
stood on the porch, the one receiving calmly, the other 
smilingly and excitedly the numerous congratulations 
from their guests on a most enjoyable and successful 
evening’s entertainment. 

General Southmaide was the last to extend his hand 
in good night. He had lingered for the pleasure of 
observing Mayme as hostess for so large a function. 
She fulfilled her part with all the savoir faire of an ex- 
perienced society matron, and as he held her hand for 
the brief space of a second and looked into her eyes, 
bright and sparkling with excitement whilst their lids 
drooped heavily for the want of sleep, she had never 
appeared so womanly. 

The grayness of early dawn was slowly breaking 
as the last carriage rolled away down the graveled 
driveway. The birds were beginning to chatter and 
chirp merrily amongst the trees and now and then a 
shrill cock’s crow for the coming day broke the still- 
ness of the early summer’s morning. 

Colonel Stanwood leaned over Mayme and kissed 
her, telling her “ to follow his example like a good 
little girl and run off and have a few winks before 
breakfast.” 

Mayme protested that she was “ not a bit sleepy,” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


II5 

and as if to prove it suddenly threw her arms around 
her father and humming a lively air whisked him off 
down the long hall and back again. 

“ There ! ” she laughed, pausing breathless, “ Good 
night, or as I should say, good morning, you dear, 
dearest old Popsie! ” 

And lifting herself on tip-toe she made a loud 
smacking noise with her lips as she kissed him heartily 
on both cheeks, and ran away up the stairs laughing 
merrily. 


ii6 


A FIERY SWORD. 


CHAPTER X. 

“The night 

Shows stars and women in a better light.” 

Fidelia leaned back wearily in her corner of the 
carriage; the old coachman in whom Colonel Stan- 
wood had perfect confidence had been deputed to 
drive them home. There was something in the way 
Uncle Rufe handled the mettlesome bays, in the de- 
termined set of his head which showed more white 
locks daily against the chocolate-hue of his seamed, 
honest old face, that gave confidence in his ability to 
handle even a fresher pair of horses. 

“ Delie, darling, are you sure you are warm 
enough?” tenderly inquired Mr. Griscom as he put 
out his hands and drew the light, woolen shawl more 
closely about his wife’s shoulders. “ There is a fore- 
taste of frost in these wee sma’ hours ; ” and his arm 
lightly embraced her as it rested about her almost 
girlish waist. 

“I am quite comfortable, thank you, dear;” she 
answered in tired, passive tones. Then after a few 
minutes’ silence: “ Had you not better button your 
coat more closely about your throat? ” 


A FIERY SWORD. II7 

Mutually thoughtful of each other’s comfort they 
drove on some distance silently. 

Gilbert’s eyes dwelt fondly on the little woman at 
his side and now and then there was a slight tighten- 
ing movement in the arm about her waist. Under 
the bright effulgence of the full moon he noticed how 
white, how tired she looked, as she sat there so still 
and motionless, seemingly unconscious of his pres- 
ence as she gazed blankly with unseeing eyes straight 
in front of her. “ She has over-fatigued herself with 
too much dancing,” he thought, tenderly watching 
her. 

The wonderful glory of the night appealed to 
their senses; the brooding stillness so intense that it 
seemed to weave a spell about them, broken only now 
and then by the low, murmurous sounds that fill the 
breezes of a summer’s night, the faint echo of the 
whip-poor-will’s cry afar off in the woods, the whir- 
ring noise of the katydids in the trees, an indis- 
tinguishable part of the faint, subtle sweetness of clov- 
er-fields, ripening June-apples in nearby orchards and 
that vague, refreshing scent of newly-ploughed ground. 
Away over to the east the violet horizon seemed pal- 
pitating with the palest rose-flush of the coming day. 

“ Isn’t it a lovely night? ” asked Gilbert after a 
time, sighing with the fulness of contentment. It 
was something unusual for Mr. Griscom to take the 
initiative in conversation at any time, but to-night 
there was so much of ease and contentment in his 
heart and he felt so thoroughly comfortable as the 
carriage rolled smoothly along the road, the moon- 


Il8 A FIERY SWORD. 

light making great patches of silver out of the white, 
sandy driveway, he felt he must say something to 
break the spell of enchantment the moonlight splendor 
of the scene had cast upon them. He had been 
thinking of all the comforts and pleasures wealth 
placed within one’s reach. How easy it was to be 
happy and to make others happy — to enjoy and to 
give others enjoyment. In fact, what a kind-heart- 
ed, genial old fellow. Colonel Stanwood was anyway. 
So hospitable, so generously disposed. He thorough- 
ly appreciated his placing his carriage at their ser- 
vice. If he had ever been guilty of idle-dreaming 
this thoughtful, contented, happy mood might have 
been construed against him. He scarcely noticed 
for some moments that his wife had not replied to his 
brief remark. 

“ It is a beautiful night! ” he reiterated, more for 
the sake of saying something. 

“ Heavenly,” ejaculated Fidelia, in languid, scarce- 
ly audible tones. 

The beauty of the night appealed to her but vague- 
ly in her retrospective and introspective mood. She 
was happy, and yet she was miserable. 

“ As are all who lead a double life,” she thought. 

In this mood the future held nothing for her. The 
past a sweet vision of peace — but how shattered and 
gone! Where was it? Whither had fled that hap- 
piness and peace that had filled her mind during those 
first two years of her acquaintance with Gordon Aller- 
ton? Was it possible that her strong individual in- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


119 


teilectuality was weaker than this baser flame which 
threatened to consume her heart? No! No! No! 
In her love for Gordon Allerton was none of passion! 
It was purely an intellectual feeling, a spiritual affin- 
ity, a oneness of heart and mind, with her weaker na- 
ture under subjection. So she reasoned; so she 
cheated herself into believing. But not for long! 
This heaven-born delight in his society had more in 
it than the cold spirituality of a platonic affection, a 
platonic friendship. A little leavening of the human 
added warmth to the cold pure flame of an intellec- 
tual affinity. She sighed with utter exhaustion as 
she dropped further back in her seat. Her aspira- 
tions; her ambitious desires were dulled into insensi- 
bility — lost sight of in the warfare that was raging 
within her heart between self-reproach and happiness. 

“ You have over-fatigued yourself, dear one! ” an- 
nounced Gilbert, decisively, observing the listless, 
wearied expression of her face and the careless aban- 
donment of her attitude. 

“ No, — no! ” she protested but wearily, as she rais- 
ed his hand to her lips. 

Even this action on her part was against her will. 
She felt the tenderness in his voice and inwardly 
shrank from his caresses, but she had not the heart 
to repulse them. She felt she was deceitful; unde- 
serving so much affection; but a confession of her 
real feelings was out of the question. There was no 
need to dispel Bertie’s illusions. He was happy and 
contented; and he should — must remain so! 


120 


A FIERY SWORD. 


Old uncle Rufus, with the easy but respectful famil- 
iarity of manner that is common between Southern- 
ers and their faithful servants, half turned round in 
his seat, observing “ that his young mistress looked 
mighty han’som this evenin’; and I reckon that ebery 
one dar hab done had a moughty scrumptious time? ” 

“Yes; I guess they did; ” responded Mr. Griscom, 
cheerily. 

“ Miss Delie — ? I hopes you had yo’ enjoyment? 
It war ce’tinly a moughty fine party ! ” he added in- 
sinuatingly. 

“Yes, Uncle Rufe; I believe everybody had a 
good time;” replied Fidelia, half smiling at the old 
man’s persistency. 

These remarks led to a discussion of the even- 
ing’s entertainment and how brilliantly everything 
went ofif. Old Uncle Rufus joining in now and then 
with a word or two which showed that he was not 
alone a keen listener but interested in the conversa- 
tion as well. 

Now and then they relapsed into silence again, and 
only the baying of some faithful watchdog, or the 
shrill call of the whip-poor-will to its mate in the 
mountain forest was heard above the tread of horses’ 
hoofs and the low crunching sound of gravel beneath 
the wheels. 

The night was so fascinating that neither of them 
was in a hurry to reach home, and Uncle Rufe, at all 
times considerate of horse-flesh, rather held the spirited 
animals in check, keeping them at a slow trot. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


I2I 


But the longest road has an end and they soon 
found themselves deposited at their own door. Uncle 
Rufe with a sweeping movement towards his hat bade 
them a respectful good night and the distant rumble 
of wheels was soon shut out. 

Gilbert’s breath coming easily and regularly as- 
sured Fidelia that her husband at least was sleeping 
that sweet, peaceful sleep of the just. She herself 
was restless, wide-awake. Afraid of disturbing his 
sonorous rest she stole out of bed noiselessly, thrust 
her feet into a pair of slippers, and slipping a warm 
dressing-gown over her thin muslin nightdress, she 
tip-toed softly towards the door, opening and closing 
it gently behind her. A few steps down the hall 
brought her to the open window. The cool night 
air fanned her hot cheeks, and was refreshing. She 
stood there with her folded hands behind her; seeing 
nothing; hearing nothing. For there was really 
nothing to be seen at this time of night except the 
moon on its waning journey across the starry heav- 
ens. The stillness of a summer’s night hung over all 
broken only by the “ voices of the wandering wind.” 

She loved the moonlight, and to get a fuller view 
of its silvery radiance she stepped out onto the small 
balcony — overlooking only commonplace backyards; 
her own and her neighbors’ . 

Beneath her, only prosaic realities; but above and 
around her were the elements of dreams. She was 
scarcely conscious of thinking; but there was a ming- 
ling of bitter and sweet through her sub-conscious 


122 


A FIERY SWORD. 


thoughts. A few blocks away the towering spire of 
the Grace M. E. Church blackly silhouetted against the 
starry sky soon became a part of her vision. Some- 
how the sight of this church awoke an early train of 
memories, and the words of Saint Paul gradually for- 
mulated themselves in her mind: “Wives, submit 
yourselves unto your husbands ” seemed hurled at 
her by some invisible force. She looked about her 
almost conscious of a Voice uttering them. The 
moonlight flooded the balcony and created dark shad- 
ows in the yard below her. But of these, of the 
moon’s beauty she took no notice. 

“ Wives, sumbit yourselves unto your husbands, as 
unto the Lord.” — was the mene tekel written in burning 
letters across her conscience. She fell on her knees, 
the heavy masses of her reddish-brown hair loosened 
from its pins, tumbled about her shoulders. With 
an upward lifting of her head she unconsciously shook 
the long tresses behind her, and with clasped hands 
and streaming eyes she cried tremulously: 

“Oh, God! — Help me! Help me to be a true 
and loving wife — Thou knowest it is not my intention 
to wilfully go against Thy teachings ! — Lead us not in- 
to temptation and deliver us from evil! ” 

She prayed earnestly. For sometime she knelt 
thus with clasped hands, her elbows resting upon the 
railing of the balcony, her unseeing eyes imploring 
Wisdom from above. Praying for guidance. 

Praying for counsel and strength to do the right 
thing at all times and under all circumstances. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


123 


CHAPTER XL 

“The words of Mercury are harsh after the 

Songs of Apollo.” 

For the next few weeks Fidelia made brave efforts 
to be loyal to her husband in every thought of her 
mind. She felt humiliated in a sense because she 
had yielded to Allerton’s arguments without so much 
as a protest; and as a self-imposed penance for her 
non-combativeness, she evaded meeting him on sev- 
eral occasions. Once or twice when he called she 
sent word that she was not at home.” Thus for 
days through strenuous endeavors and by her ex- 
tra devotion to her husband and work she succeeded 
in a measure in keeping her thoughts of Allerton in 
the background. 

She was so sweet and engaging, at this time, in 
her wifely attentions that Gilbert’s ox-like eyes lost 
for a time their habitual pathetic expression, and he 
felt transported to the seventh heaven of delight. On 
warm summer evenings he would take his violin and 
together they would sit out on the small balcony at 
the rear of the house. A luxuriant Virginia creeper 
screening them from the gaze of the world and the 
curiosity of officious though, perhaps, well-meaning 


124 


A FIERY SWORD. 


neighbors. Here Fidelia in thin summery gown, ar- 
tistically adapted to comfort and the weather, her 
slender, well-proportioned figure delicately outlined 
through its pristine sheerness, would bring her crochet 
or some light sewing and sit until the stars blinked 
out from the azure heavens an enwrapt and apprecia- 
tive listener to the sweet strains of music. 

Rarely was the subject of her work mentioned be- 
tween them. As she had discovered that Gilbert did 
not share her enthusiasm over her contemplated trip 
East when the new play was finished. 

Mr. Griscom’s name had been suggested as Second 
Violin at the last meeting of the Harmony Glee Club, 
and she encouraged him not to reject the offer. 
These meetings and rehearsals would serve to enliven 
his evenings during her absence from home that win- 
ter. 

Fidelia was an assidous worker and her days were 
filled with her studies and writings. Many of her 
friends and acquaintances had sought the cool retreat 
of mountain resorts or the gay life at the seashore or 
springs, on holiday bent. Only an occasional visit 
from those not fortunate enough to get away during 
the hot spell broke in upon her labors. She con- 
centrated all her energies upon completing her play. 
This close confinement to work during the dog-days 
made her look white and thin. Gilbert expostulated 
with her, and old Aunt Dinah besought her to rest. 
It was seldom, however, that she took their advice. 
Only on days when the air was heavy with humidity 


A FIERY SWORD. 


125 


and all nature drowsy with the droning of bees and 
insects in the vines outside her window did she allow 
herself the luxury of a siesta. Then with book in hand 
she would comfortably ensconce herself in the ham- 
mock which swung invitingly behind the cool, green 
vines that shaded the back-porch. She was not 
averse to an indolent hour or two in this “ summer- 
resort,” but eager to write Unis to her play, yielded 
but rarely to the rest this dolce far niente afforded. 
She had more than one motive in wishing to finish 
her work. Fame beckoned her alluringly in the dis- 
tance. A certain pride to show her friends what 
she could do urged her on. Though she liked to 
think and had cheated herself into believing that all 
her efforts were for Gilbert’s sake. Promising her- 
self that if success came to her they would seek a 
climate better suited to his health. 

She built many air-castles during these days of 
rejuvenated wifely devotion and all her plans were 
centered around “ Bertie ” and his well-being. But, 
alas! this mood of ecstatic fidelity and devotion to her 
husband was one of dangerous exaltation not destined 
to last. 

Extremes are to be avoided at all times: sooner 
or later the reaction is bound to come. To a per- 
son of Fidelia’s eager, restless, enthusiastic and over- 
sanguine mind this was inevitable. Her life was one 
straining after attainment. The happiness of to-day 
was as nothing compared with the heaven of to-mor- 
row. Whatever engaged her mind, she lost the 


126 


A FIERY SWORD. 


pleasure of the present through her rosy anticipations 
of the future. For her as for the Spanish there was 
a golden significance in the little word Manana. 

One morning in glancing over the T imcs, she read : 

“Mr. and Mrs. Gordon Allerton and family have re- 
opened their home on the Bluffs after a short vacation at 
White Sulphur Springs.” 

Her face flushed over this announcement. She 
felt wounded and not a little indignant that they should 
have gone away and returned home again without 
having told her of their plans. Why hadn’t Mrs. 
Allerton mentioned it? Why hadn’t Gordon spoken 
of it? Friendship demanded so much at least! She 
had forgotten her studied avoidance of the Allerton’s 
prior to their departure. 

Suddenly the days seem lengthened to months. 
The days since she last saw Gordon Allerton. 

“ I must call,” she thought with a longing to hear 
again his voice; to feel once more the clasp of his 
hand ; the sympathetic glance of the kindly eyes as 
they looked into hers. “No; I will not — I” she 
hesitated. “Yes;” thoughtfully, almost defiantly, 
“ Yes, I will, too. Why not? ” 

That night somehow she did not reciprocate Gil- 
bert’s demonstrative greeting as usual. During their 
early dinner she casually mentioned the Allertons’ re- 
turn from their vacation, suggesting that it would be 
“ friendly ” to pay them a visit soon. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


127 

Gilbert readily acquiesced in this. “ The even- 
ing was such a fine one why not go at once? ” 

They found Mr. and Mrs. Allerton, who welcomed 
them heartily, seated on the veranda. Mrs. Allerton, 
not expecting visitors, as she explained, so soon after 
their arrival, was profuse in her apologies for having 
donned a cool, white negligee for the evening. “ She 
believed in taking her comfort,” and her face shone 
ruddily in the crimson after-glow of a sinking sun 
which for one brief second slanted its rays athwart 
the veranda. 

Mr. Griscom, noting her high color, playfully con- 
trasted the complexion of the two women. “ It was 
a pity there was no way of sharing so much color 
with Fidelia!” 

Mrs. Allerton’s face became a shade more florid 
against her white gown as she attributed this excess 
of color to “sunburn:” “They bairns are juist cov- 
ered with they ^ ferny tickles.' ” 

They all laughed at her homely Scotch words; 
Allerton explaining that she meant “ common, every- 
day freckles.” 

This little incident enlivened their spirits and the 
Allertons recounted gleefully of their stay at the 
Springs. Mrs. Allerton had found the crowds at the 
hotels a trifle “ gay,” and too much time was wasted 
on “ dress ” to suit her old-fashioned notions and deco- 
rous ideas, but with it all they had enjoyed their 
trip immensely. 

Allerton spoke of the delightful walks beneath the 


128 


A FIERY SWORD. 


old beech trees, and found occasion to intimate to 
Fidelia that had she been with them his happiness 
would have been complete; and under cover of the 
night his hand stole over hers with a tender pres- 
sure; she divining in his words a significance meant 
for her alone. And through the darkness she felt 
she could interpret the expression she knew was in 
his eyes. 

It came out in the conversation during the even- 
ing, and as the greatest surprise to them all, that 
Gideon Carr was seriously considering going as a 
missionary to the East. “Yes; ” said Allerton, “ we 
have had many talks on the subject, and to-day he 
informed me that he had put in an application to be 
sent out to China at once.” 

Fidelia looking back remembered his close attend- 
ance upon Mayme the night of her moonlight enter- 
tainment, and putting two and two together, came 
to the conclusion that this proposed step on the “ Rev- 
erend ” Carr’s part had something to do with 
Mayme’s reticence since that evening. 

“ I am glad he’s going. Such a handsome, well- 
fared man — and so good and religious in his way ; ” 
said Mrs. Allerton. “ But Miss Stanwood? what will 
she do without her devoted admirer?” — and there 
was a litle quiet sarcasm in her tones. “ I call it a 
shame the way she has led that poor boy on ! ” 

“ Why you can’t blame Mayme ! ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Griscom warmly. The color burning into her face 


A FIERY SWCRD. I29 

as she took Mayme’s part against this unjust accusa- 
tion. 

“ You would better ask what will Miss Longley 
do for amusement and occupation?” laughed Aller- 
ton. “ It seems to me that she is the Diana of the 
chase.” 

After this Fidelia felt there had come the tiniest 
little rift in her goodwill towards Mrs. Allerton, and 
pleading the lateness of the hour, she and Gilbert took 
their departure. 

The next day the reaction set in. Fidelia felt 
morbid and melancholy. Gilbert’s caresses palled 
upon her. She accepted them as usual but suffered 
them impatiently. She wished Allerton would call, 
that they might together read over her latest work. 
She herself doubted its merit; it was not up to the 
standard of her previous work. She sat at her desk 
feverish and listless. She could not collect her 
thoughts sufficiently to begin work again. 

To begin to think of the past — of the future! was 
for Fidelia the beginning of unrest. She was per- 
plexed, discouraged, full of unsatisfied desire. An 
undefinable feeling of sadness, hopelessness, possessed 
her. At one minute she hated herself for yielding 
so easily to the persuasive eloquence and influence 
of Gordon Allerton, and the next she was dreamily 
happy in the knowledge that he loved her. She 
hated herself for a weak, vacillating coward; but she 
lacked the moral courage to give him up entirely. 
And then, “ Why should she? ” would come a thought 


130 A FIERY SWORD. 

insinuatingly. “ He was really the best friend she 
had — the most helpful! How could she do without 
him?” 

Allerton’s visits gave her an equal amount of pain 
and pleasure. Each time that she saw him her an- 
guish increased proportionately with her happiness. 
She was living at a high tension in these days. She 
longed more and more for Allerton’s society. Her 
best work was done on the days when she looked for- 
ward to his coming. The days that he came not 
were filled with restless longing, the unsatisfied de- 
sire for his presence. What matter if Gilbert’s pres- 
ence was a silent shadow between them as they sat and 
discussed the latest book, or criticised her work? 
What matter if Mrs. Allerton occasionally accompa- 
nied him in his evening visits? At such times her 
wit flowed fastest, and her ready appreciation of Al- 
lerton’s conversation was keenest; she hung breath- 
less on his every word, leading him on to favorite 
topics with an archness of manner, inspiring him with 
her questions — questions incapable of his wife’s mind; 
delighting in the contrast she presented to this self- 
satisfied, indifferent and unresponsive woman whom 
he called wife. And then after it was all over — after 
they had gone — she would reproach herself for her 
littleness. Of what use was such a petty triumph? 
Of what use were such actions, such feelings on her 
part? They were unworthy of her better self — ^the 
sodden clay weighing down her soul in its struggle 
to rise above the sordid, mean little affairs of every- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


I3I 

day life. And thus she was continually striving af- 
ter the ideal but ever unsuccessful. Her soul had 
not yet strength — fire enough to cosume its pettiness — 
to shake away the ashes of material things and to rise 
Phoenix-like above them. 

While Mr. Griscom had not helped he had not 
hindered his wife in any way in the accomplishment 
of her desires; allowing her all the freedom she crav- 
ed. Her friends, though not always congenial to 
himself, were ever made welcome to his home. He 
meekly felt that his wife was moulded of finer clay 
than most mortals and was proud of the fact. He 
adored her as a being superior to himself and deplored 
their being trammeled by lack of means. His sym- 
pathy went no further. He had not the slightest 
interest in the things that were often subjects of keen- 
est discussion in his home. A timid self-deprecia- 
tion kept him in the background. 

One evening he came home tired and languid from 
the oppressive heat of the day, longing for the rest 
and peace and quietness of his home, but forced to 
sit and listen to long-winded and laborious discus- 
sions on Theology between Gordon Allerton and Gid- 
eon Carr on the one side and his wife and General 
Southmaide on the other, abstruse, scientific and meta- 
physical phrases beating about his aching head. He 
had contributed his share of the entertainment earlier 
in the evening, and when no longer urged to play, 
laid down his violin. He had been interested while 
General Southmaide outlined the plan of his coming 


132 


A FIERY SWORD. 


campaign, and sincerely hoped that he would land 
successfully in Congress. But he was a great deal 
more interested in the conquest for a heart and a hand 
that was being waged “ under the rose,” though visi- 
ble enough to the initiated; he liked the General and 
wished him success in both sieges. 

As he sat a silent listener, pretended interest in the 
weighty subjects discussed around him grew tire- 
some. He felt bored and moved about uneasily 
on his chair. After making several ineffectual at- 
tempts to become interested, he settled himself re- 
signedly back resting his head upon his hands. — 

“ The mind of youth is elastic — it is then that we 
should take advantage of every opportunity to grasp 
knowledge; ” said Allerton; his voice breaking in upon 
Gilbert as he sat almost asleep. He sat up briskly, 
and hoped that no one had noticed his closed eye- 
lids or that he had been half-nodding in his chair. 
That he himself had let slip many a golden op- 
portunity he knew — 

“ Unless the mind expands rapidly in youth,” Al- 
lerton went on, “ its fibres toughen as we grow older 
and we find it more and more difficult to grasp any 
subject.” 

“ Well,” said General Southmaide, “ I believe that 
we are each of us born with our modicum of gray 
matter — but it is not every one who attains to that 
state of perfection inherent within him, or reaches that 
height to which his destiny entitles him. Some rush 
forward without obstacle to a pinnacle of greatness — 


A FIERY SWORD. 


133 


circumstances combine to push them along, and seem- 
ingly without an effort on their part. Others with an 
equal amount of intelligence never rise above the level. 
Circumstances, again, you see! combine to hold them 
back. They have not had equal advantages.” 

“A repetition of the same old subject;” thought 
Gilbert as he relapsed again into indifference; tired 
and disgusted; and wishing in the depths of his heart 
that they would shut up and take themselves away 
home and leave him in peace for once. 

Now and then a flash of repartee from his wife’s 
lips caught his ears, and at the sound of her voice he 
would brighten up and perhaps join in with a word 
or two, lapsing into silence as the look of adoration 
fcr her cleverness faded out of his eyes and the old 
bored expression settled on his face. Gradually, a 
growing sense of his ignorance was borne in upon 

him; took full possession of him His tongue 

was no more capable of fencing words with these men 
before him than his frail body was of lifting heavy- 
weights. He saw his wife a central figure in this 
company; her eyes bright and expressive of interest, 
her whole being radiant as she eagerly absorbed the 
essence of the conversation. ... A sullen anger 
filled his heart and glowed beneath his eyes. These 
men with their trick of phrasing; their display of wis- 
dom; their eloquence of speech; their learning; their 
knowledge of all things in which his education had 
been deficient; were winning his wife from his side 
and he was powerless to hold her. Her heart craved 


A FIERY SWORD. 


134 

something more than he could give her. These other 
things had more of a hold upon her than his devo- 
tion! She was being won away from him and be- 
fore his very eyes I ... Long ago a seed of resent- 
ment had unconsciously lodged itself in his heart, 
and now it was beginning to bear fruit. His anger 
grew hot within him. His eyes lost their placidity 
and gleamed brightly behind their drooping white 
lids. 

After their visitors had gone, leaving him more 
bored than ever before with their labored scientific, 
metaphysical and theological conglomerations of 
ideas; tired and resentful that they had invaded the 
peace of his home so many times before, keeping 
him from his much-needed rest, he crossly intimated 
to Fidelia that he was “ Getting tired of so much rot! 
A little bit of such things went a long ways. And 
when a man had enough of it he had enough for all 
time! And his had been a particularly large dose 
to swallow.” 

Once having started on this subject, his feelings 
flamed apace as he stood before his wife white with 
pent-up anger. 

“ He had possessed his soul in patience so long 
she had forgotten he had any right to consideration 
in his own house! .... Were they — she and her 
friends — going to keep on thrusting such talk down 
his throat? No! By Heavens!” he thundered. 
“ A man had some rights in his own home and here- 
after he would assert them! He wished to heaven 


A FIERY SWORD. I35 

she had — never learned to read! or that she had been 
born with a ‘ less modicum of the gray matter/ that 
they prated so tiringly about! — ” 

Fidelia listened, livid with astonishment! She 
had forgotten that a worm will sometimes turn. In 
all her life she had never seen her husband in such a 
state of rage. She quaked inwardly for fear he would 
lay some blame upon Gordon Allerton as the mov- 
ing spirit of such a state of affairs as he complained 
about; or give utterance to some expression be- 
traying cognizance of her real feelings towards Aller- 
ton. 

“ Could he be jealous? No.” 

Mentally determining that it was simply a fit of 
intolerance on his part; he was tired out, enraged, too, 
perhaps, with himself at not being able to take part 
in their discussions. 

Gilbert, unheeding her look of astonishment, strode 
angrily up and down the room; pausing, he picked 
up a volume lying upon a nearby table : “ ‘ Literary 

Helps!’” he sneered. “Yes! helps to turn a man’s 
home into a Hell!” 

He bellowed forth the words with fire as he tossed 
the book across the room. 

“'Inductive Studies in Browning;”’ he read, 
picking up another. “ Seductive Studies in Non- 
sense ! ” he stormed, as he sent that also flying after its 
companion. Lifting book after book he hurled each 
one after its mate with similar perversion of titles and 


136 A FIERY SWORD. 

a rare allowance of wit that no one had ever dreamed 
he possessed. 

Fidelia stood meanwhile with beating heart, watch- 
ing this sudden onslaught upon her treasures, the 
growing litter of the room with her beloved volumes, 
too terrified, too dumbfounded to utter protest She 
believed that in this unheard of accession of rage, her 
husband’s reason had snapped in twain. “ He must 
have suddenly gone insane,” she thought She knew 
that there had been such cases. Her ears, however, 
became keen for the mention of Allerton’s name as 
the keynote and she held her breath lest his dedication 
on the title page of some book that he had presented 
her with should suggest him as the author of his 
troubles. 

All at once, Gilbert’s eyes fell upon the manuscript 
from which she had entertained the company with ex- 
tracts that evening. He made a step towards the 
small table where it lay. Fidelia, divining his pur- 
pose, darted across the room and seized the precious 
bundle of paper, but not soon enough to save it in- 
tact. Gilbert had captured a few stray sheets, and 
with a voice now hoarse with anger said, as he vicious- 
ly shredded them into strips : “ Fll put an end to 

any more such nonsense! ” 

Fidelia escaped with the remainder through the 
door that led into the sitting-room and locked it be- 
hind her. That Bertie had lost his senses, she now 
felt certain. She ran trembling and locked the other 
door that gave access to the room and sank upon the 


A FIERY SWORD. 


n7 

couch shivering with terror Her heart hurl- 

ed itself against her bosom so rapidly that the noise 
of its beating rolled through her ears like the sound 
of the sea as it closes over the last struggles of the 
drowning 


. . . Had she been lying there for hours? The 
room was suffocatingly filled with the smoke from a 
dying lamp that flickered and flared in the corner and 
went out, leaving her in darkness. 

She sat up and listened; straining her ears. She 
was sure she had heard a moaning sound. “ Could 
Bertie? — no! — no!” — the thought was too horrible! 
and she covered her face with her hands. Again, she 
heard that sound — it surcharged her with its vibra- 
tions; it beat about her as she sat tense and motion- 
less — awaiting its repetition. 

Again it came, this time with an indistinct mur- 
mur of words. 

“ It was Bertie! he must be talking to her, there 
was no one else in the house.” She listened. “ For- 
give me, — darling! I have been mad. Mad! — 
Delie — ?” came imploringly. “Delie — ?” — Her 
lips remained closed. Her body seemed but half- 
alive — benumbed with cold. Her heart a lifeless 
weight in her bosom. Then as she remembered — 
her brain seemed a living fire! She sank back al- 
most exhausted with the excitement and terror of 
what had happened. Never in all of Gilbert’s meek, 
unassuming life had she seen him in such a mood. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


138 

It was a revelation. She had not believed there was 
so much fire behind that calm, placid, good-natured 
exterior. 

“Delie — ” again; his tones sounded muffled 
through the closed doorway. “ For God’s sake 
come — to me ! ” 

A subtle chill took possession of her as the last 
words reached her in a faint, thick voice. A vision 
of Death was before her. She arose — impelled by 
some instinct to obey. Her hands trembled so she 
could scarcely turn the key in the lock. As she en- 
tered the room Gilbert lay prone upon the floor, a 
thin stream of blood had trickled across the white 
pages of an open book upon which his head had fallen. 
She half-screamed at sight of him lying there pros- 
trate amidst the litter. She started back in terror at 
the sight before her. His motionless silence meant — 
could mean but one thing. She fell down beside 
him. No! His hand was yet warm, and she raised 
it to her lips in thanksgiving. 

“Bertie, — what have you done?” she asked in 
quick, terror-stricken tones. “ What is the matter? 
Would you like a little water? ” the tears splashing 
over her face as she raised his head. “ Don’t try to 
talk yet!” as he moved his lips inarticulately. 

She wiped the blood from his pallid lips, thank- 
ful the hemorrhage had ceased; and propping him 
up against a chair she ran for water. As soon as she 
could get him to bed she darted across the street and 
aroused the doctor, beseeching him to come at once. 



OOD’S SAKK come 


TO ME ! ’ 


A VISION OF DEATH WAS BEFORE HEU, 






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A FIERY SWORD. 


139 


The physician, after a careful examination, pro- 
nounced him out of immediate danger, but impressed 
upon them the necessity of absolute quiet, the pa- 
tient’s need of rest and the absolute freedom from all 
excitement. 

That the physician guessed that there was some 
unusual cause for this paroxysm of weakness and hem- 
orrhage Fidelia knew, and she was, therefore, all the 
more grateful to the tact that wisely refrained from 
questions. 


140 


A FIERY SWORD. 


CHAPTER XIL 

“If we had a keen vision and 
feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing 
the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat, and we should 
die cf that roar which lies on the other side of silence. 
As it is, the quickest of us walk about well wadded with 
stupidity.” 

For days Gilbert’s convalescence kept the atmos- 
phere of the Griscom household in a becalmed state. 
The main cause of his illness was a tabooed subject 
between himself and his wife. Fidelia feared to 
broach it lest some word should place her friend, Gor- 
don Allerton, under suspicion in Lis heart And Gil- 
bert who was inordinately a peace-lover was glad to 
let the scene fade from his memory. He felt con- 
trite and ashamed of himself and these feelings he 
made know to his wife in various ways but never 
in words. His anaemic personality betrayed him a 
man of modulated action rather than speech, lacking 
in the strong qualities that would have made him 
prominent amongst the world’s forces. There was a 
manliness about him, but it was effeminated by his 
slender physique, his gentle dignity, his soft, slow 
speech. His hands, now thin and bloodless, were 
as white and smooth as any woman’s; his tapering 


A FIERY SWORD. 


I4I 

fingers, the development of his broad, smooth fore- 
head, all showed that music was his passion; his rec- 
reation ; his master. And had his talent in this direc- 
tion received cultivation the world would have added 
another name to its list of great musicians. For 
books he cared but little, rarely did he read one 
through ; all his leisure time was devoted to his violin. 

Fidelia had learned to play simple little accom- 
paniments to his melodies and the days of his con- 
valescence were days of supreme enjoyment; and it 
was often with a half-reluctance that he laid down his 
beloved instrument to accompany Colonel Stanwood 
driving on occasions when he would call for him with 
his high-stepping bays. When he was strong enough 
to take such exercise these drives became a regular 
thing. Sometimes Mayme would accompany her 
father and sometimes Fidelia, and sometimes both 
would lend the brightness of their society to cheer the 
invalid. Gradually his strength and color returned, 
and the physician pronounced him well enough to re- 
sume business, but the severe hemorrhages had made 
inroads upon his already weakened lungs that time 
could never efface. 

Fidelia had been forced during the time of Gil- 
bert’s illness to lay aside her writing; the invalid had 
been so exacting in his demands for her society and 
attention, that even when she found a spare moment 
on her hands, she was too fatigued to take up the 
thread of her work. She fretted at this enforced delay 
of her cherished plans, though she said little about 


142 


A FIERY SWORD. 


her disappointment Gilbert seemed to delight in the 
fact that she had no chance for work, and in little 
ways seemed to create obstacles to prevent her giving 
it her attention. If she wished to talk over her plans 
with him in the evening after his return from business, 
he would gently waive the subject and invariably be- 
sought her services at the piano. For awhile she 
humored this caprice of his as one humors the vaga- 
ries of a sick child, forcing herself to appear pleased 
when he would lay down his violin, putting his arms 
around her as he complimented her on her greatly 
improved playing. But she was long past that state 
of mind when his compliments could enliven her or 
his caresses give her pleasure. The utmost limits 
to which her philosophy could reach was to bear with 
him in silence, and this was not always with patience. 
For without sympathy in the things she cared most 
about, his caresses seemed meaningless to her. He 
seemed to take no interest whatever in the outcome 
of her play, further than to chafe at her proposed ab- 
sence from home as liable to interfere with his com- 
forts. In fact, whenever the subject came up, he 
taunted her with the failure of her first efforts in this 
direction, and railed bitterly at the idea of her spend- 
ing time and money again on such a fruitless en- 
deavor. 

After these bitter scenes, which became more and 
more frequent, he would seek to make amends by re- 
doubling his affectionate attentions. There was no 


A FIERY SWORD. 


143 


plane of steady affection — no medium in their daily 
relations. The thermometer of their feelings for each 
other was either at zero or above blood-heat. They 
would drift along prosaically and moderately affec- 
tionate for a few days, Bertie adoring and she sweet- 
ly submissive, until affection reached the highest de- 
gree of intensity. From which height it wavered, 
falling with inexplicable rapidity to an almost icy 
indifference on her part once more. Whose was the 
fault? who started it on its downward ebb? it was 
hard to determine. Thus the current of their mar- 
ried life had run in leaps and bounds. Rapidly and 
spasmodically rising and falling from day to day. 

The thought that she was living simply to gratify 
the baser flame of life became intolerable. This feel- 
ing of personal degradation grew upon her from day 
to day. She began to look forward to her trip to 
New York as a means of freedom from Gilbert’s 
caresses. She was beginning to submit to them with 
ill-concealed annoyance. There was something more 
in life than its material needs and desires. 

Allerton was always encouraging her to push 
ahead with her work, portraying such flattering re- 
sults that her ambition was fired to greater zeal. She 
already felt herself at the pinnacle of Fame — the adula- 
tion of the world pouring at her feet. In this trans- 
port and transitory excitement, and the feeling of re- 
lief that her prospective trip afforded her, she failed 
to notice the deeper flush of Gilbert’s cheeks or the 


144 


A FIERY SWORD, 


increased brightness of his eyes. These signs of 
false vitality were meaningless to her. Indeed, had 
she noted them, their real significance was lost and 
but showed that his health was improving since Na- 
ture took his restoration in hand, stimulating him 
with her fresh, healthy autumnal breezes, administer- 
ing in large doses the invigorating ozone of Autumn's 
gold and crimson elixir. 

One bright afternoon when the world was flooded 
with sunshine, Mayme appeared and insisted on Fi- 
delia accompanying her driving, enforcing her plea 
with the information that she was only permitted to 
take out the bays on condition that she accompany 
her. “ So come along, you have worked hard 
enough ! " she coaxed. 

Fidelia had been writing hard all the afternoon, 
and turned and looked at Mayme with a vague, far- 
away look, not altogether pleased to have her thoughts 
broken up in this sudden way. 

“ Come ! Lay down that pen ! a long drive will 
put some color in your cheeks,” she playfully com- 
manded. “ All work and no play, you know, will 
make you a dull — boy,” she laughed. 

“ Ah, Mayme, dear, you are truly my David ! ” ex- 
claimed Fidelia, rising from her chair. “ After all, 
what would I do without you? dear little cousin!” 
placing both hands on Mayme’s shoulders as she kiss- 
ed her affectionately. “ When these feverish fits of 
unrest clutch me ’tis only you, sweet child that you 
are, who loosen their grasp.” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


145 


She did not tell Mayme of her daily trials which 
grew more and more unbearable, but the keen intui- 
tion of a loving heart had sensed some hidden sorrow 
in her cousin’s life. 

“Just hurry up then, dearest; I’ll drive the bays 
fast enough to escape a thousand devils, this after- 
noon,” laughing brightly. “ It is glorious outside 
and a sin to waste a moment longer indoors. I 
promised Aunt Chloey some persimmons — I know 
where there is a fine tree ! ” she exclaimed. 

Mayme’s influence over Fidelia was like the balm 
of an innocent love which knows itself reciprocated, 
seeks no reward and has no fear of the future. It 
seemed that whenever her soul was in pain, her heart 
torn with conflicting emotions between trying to be 
loyal to her husband and the effort to shut out a 
stronger feeling, that carried with it an intensity of 
longing for the intellectual companionship of an- 
other, after a half hour with Mayme and her childish 
enthusiasm over life — life is always full of enthusiasm 
for the young — she would grow quiet and calm. In 
Mayme’s society she lost that restless feeling, that 
burning fever of love throbbing ’twixt duty and temp- 
tation, and readily acknowledged that her regained 
tranquility was due to the moral influence of inno- 
cence — and innocence in love. For Mayme’s 
heightened color and sudden shyness to any allusion 
to “Ye knight of ye olden time,” as her friends had 
playfully dubbed her middle-aged admirer, was more 


A FIERY SWORD. 


146 

convincing than words as to her feelings towards the 
General. 

There was between these two women a tender and 
intimate friendship strengthened by the tie of relation- 
ship, and this friendship was all the more beautiful 
considering the difference in their ages and environ- 
ment in which each had been born. 

As they drove through the suburbs of the city 
and past Mayme’s home, a woolly-headed, ebon figure, 
with its black eyes popping out of an equally black 
face, hung over the palings and looked wistfully after 
them. Mayme stopped suddenly and turning her 
head called back: 

“ Come, Lem ! you little black monkey, climb in 
behind. He’ll do to shake the persimmons down;” 
as the small black figure nothing loth jumped over 
the fence, his round, chocolate-hued face agrin with 
delight, and bestowed his slender form in the space 
back of the seat; his long bare legs dangling over the 
edge of the buggy like the claws of a huge black 
spider. 

They bowled along the smooth country road, past 
farmhouse and cottage, past stacks of fodder yellow- 
ing in the sunshine, past groups of pale-faced, ragged 
youngsters, who stared and sniggered enviously at 
the little black form huddled up at the back, as they 
munched their bread and molasses; past groups of 
kinky-headed little darkies, and dirty, ragged white 
boys squabbling over their marbles, all scattering as 
quickly as the speckled and white fowls that, disturb- 


A FIERY SWORD. I47 

ed in their scratching, cackled wildly and flew from 
beneath the horses’ hoofs across the white road. Now 
and then a rabbit or a bushy-tailed squirrel scudded 
across their path and made for safety amidst the tan- 
gle of brush and vine that grew rank and luxuriant 
along the roadway. 

Mayme flicked the bays with her whip once in 
awhile “ just to show them she did not intend they 
should walk a snail’s pace when she was behind 
them.” She was not as considerate of horseflesh as 
Old Uncle Rufe, and believed in “ making them go 
like the wind!” 

The woods were aglow. Nature had been lav- 
ish with her brush and palette, bestowing her colors 
in great splashes of brown and red and yellow upon the 
cool, dark greens of tree and shrub. The gorgeous 
effect of the whole toned down beneath the blueish 
haze that made all things seem far distant and unreal; 
softening even the brightness of the sun as it shone 
through this opalescent and transparent gauze that 
draped the world with a hazy unreality. 

Oh, 

“ Mother of marvels, mysterious and tender 

Nature, why do we not live more in thee?” 

thought Fidelia, as she gazed silently upon the beau- 
teous scene about her. 

For the first few miles of their drive there had been 
much to say between them; Mayme pouring her girl- 


148 A FIERY SWORD. 

ish confidences unrestrained into Fidelia’s willing and 
sympathetic ears. Both enjoying the long, heart- 
to-heart talk. But as the road led more into the 
depth of the woods, their voices gradually ceased. 
Nor had they observed the silence between them — 
that silence that often falls upon friends who so thor- 
oughly understand each other they feel not the neces- 
sity for incessant speech when together. Each was 
intent upon her own thoughts; both, perhaps, weav- 
ing dreams of the future. 

How rare a thing it is, and yet how sweet and 
unselfish this friendship of one true woman for an- 
other! Born as it is out of calm, dispassionate ad- 
miration — often the growth of years of intimate ac- 
quaintance. Each allowing the other that perfect 
freedom of mind, that perfect freedom of action, that 
each demands. Ready with sympathy, and as ready 
with confidence. Seeking no explanation, asking 
no reward, other than that which is freely given. 
It is only when overtaken by grief or assailed with 
difficulties a friend’s sympathy can assuage or lessen 
that we realize the depth of such an affection, the 
inestimable worth of such a friend. 

The crack of a rifle high up on the hill, clear and 
keen, reverberating and echoing amongst the dis- 
tant hills betokened the hunter astir for the small game 
of the woods. 

Fidelia finally broke the silence between them and 
found Mayme, as usual, a ready and appreciative lis- 
tener. Mayme had always looked up to her clever 


A FIERY SWORD. I49 

cousin with love and admiration for all she said and 
did. And when she began to repeat slowly and 
with feeling: 

“To him who in the love of Nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language — ” 

Mayme exclaimed with delight: “ Oh, that beau- 
tiful Thanatopsis! I could recite it line by line when 
in school, now only the last few words come to me: 

“ ‘Approach thy grave 

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.’ ” 

Fidelia repeated the whole poem, word for word, 
for she loved every line of it and knew it by heart, 
Mayme joining in now and then as she recalled the 
lines. 

The slight roar of the Blowing Spring as it burst 
out from its rock bed; a vine with scarlet berries that 
twined about a young sapling that reared itself from 
the marshy earth; the trickling of the water across 
the smooth white stones ; was the next sight and sound 
that arrested their attention. On a little knoll not 
far distant the bare, brown branches of a persimmon 
tree laden with the brownish and yellow fruit caught 
their eyes. 

“ It is here that we descend,” said Mayme, as she 
drew across the road, letting the horses drink their fill. 
Alighting she fastened the reins about the trunk of a 
tree. 


150 


A FIERY SWORD. 


“Jump down, you woolly-headed little monkey!” 
she cried to the youthful inheritor of Uncle Rufe’s 
black kinks and ebon face. “ Let’s see how quick 
you can skin that tree I and don’t forget you are to eat 
as many as you shake down,” she laughed. 

Fidelia went at once in quest of the scarlet vine 
and brilliant foliage. Soon she was tucking away 
sprays and branches, aflame with Autumnal fire, into 
the capacious recesses of the buggy. Mayme picked 
up a piece of a broken rail from a nearby fence, and 
with a cry to Lem to “ Lookout! ” hurled it into the 
tree above her. A shower of golden fruit fell amongst 
the dead leaves and they busied themselves picking it 
up. 

“ I reckon I’ll take a few green ones along to 
pucker up Aunt Chloey’s mouth; she talks altogether 
too much ; ” she observed merrily. 

They were thus occupied, laughing and talking, 
when the rattling of a light spring wagon announced 
competitors in the field. 

“ Tell your fortunes, my pretty young ladies? ” 
came in clear tones. 

And glancing down through the network of crim- 
son and gold they saw a veritable wood-nymph whose 
raiment seemed a part of the forest about her. There 
was a smile in her sparkling black eyes as she climb- 
ed up the little knoll on which they stood. A red 
velvet turban, with tassel of gold, was perched jaun- 
tily on the raven locks, setting off to perfection the 
deep olive of her skin. A string of corals hung low 


A FIERY SWORD. I5C 

about her black velvet bodice, and long eardrops of 
gold and coral fell about her neck. 

“Tell your fortunes, ladies?” she repeated, her 
full red lips parting over milk-white teeth, wreathing 
her face in smiles as she half-led, half-dragged a little 
old woman of bent form and shrivelled stature up the 
low knoll. 

Hobbling along with the aid of a stick upon which 
she leaned heavily, the old woman halted just in front 
of them, peering up at Mayme and Fidelia with 
beady, hawk-like eyes. 

“ Tell your fortunes, my pretty young ladies? ” 
she whined. 

Fidelia felt no fear; but there was something un- 
canny about the bent posture and shrunken, brown- 
ish, birdlike claws, with their long dirty nails, some- 
thing repulsive in the hands that were stretched out 
toward her, that filled her with loathing and a ner- 
vous dread. 

“ No, — no! ” she commanded harshly. “ We have 
no money ; ” she added nervously. 

“ Let the old gypsy woman read your palm, my 
bonny one? it will bring you luck,” whined the old 
hag persistently. 

“Go away!” almost screamed Fidelia. “I tell 
you we have no money;” and she shrunk away ner- 
vously from the long, bony hands that made to clutch 
her dress imploringly. 

“ I have a few cents with me,” said Mayme in an 
undertone. 


152 


A FIERY SWORD. 


“ Read the fair maiden’s, mother; ” said the young 
daughter of Romany as she caught the whisper — 
“ she with the aureole of gold, the laughing e>es and 
face full of sunshine; she will not refuse a slignt to- 
ken in return for success in love, I warrant ! ” and 
she courtesied gracefully before Mayme, the golden 
tassel shining in the sunlight. 

“ Just ‘ the age for flowers and loves ^ ” mumbled 
the old woman, turning her attention to Mayme. 
“ Cross my hand with silver, dearie ; ” whined the old 
dame, bending forward her head and looking sharply 
up into Mayme’s blushing face and half-frightened 
eyes. 

Mayme laughed nervously at this essayal of elo- 
quence and drew forth a ten-cent piece. 

“ This is all I have,” she said, dropping the shin- 
ing coin into the greedy, outstretched hand. 

“ Heaven will reward you, my pretty one, with 
wealth and the love of a noble, dark-eyed gentleman. 
A proposal awaits at thy door. A journey and a 
speedy marriage confront thee.” 

‘'Of course,” laughed Fidelia; “that is her stock 
in trade.” 

“Not for you, dear lady;” quickly answered the 
old hag with Machiavellian astuteness. “ Darkness 
shadows you. . The shrieks of the dead and the dy- 
ing fill my ears — I canot say whether it is fire or wa- 
ter; my vision is blinded. But I see you immerge 
into the sunlight years hence an unhappy, lonely old 
woman.” 



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A FIERY SWORD. I53 

“ Lands sake! What a fate! That is because 
you did not give her a dime ; ” laughed Mayme, as 
the vindictive old witch turned and hobbled off in 
the direction of their wagon. “ The young one is 
quite a beauty, though;” she said, “with her olive- 
hued skin and black eyes.” The bright figure courte- 
sied her thanks with a smiling face and disappeared 
through the trees. 

Fidelia and Mayme stood and looked at each other 
in silence. 

The red and gold tints of the forest; the undulat- 
ing road that dipped between the low hills, which, 
seen through the blueish atmosphere, looked so dis- 
tc.nt and enchanting; the rattling of the wagon as 
they drove rapidly out of sight, all seemed so unreal 
that had it not been for Mayme’s clear, silvery laugh 
as she said: 

“ I hope they haven’t stolen the carriage robes ! ” 
as she bethought herself of the well-known procliv- 
ities of these wandering nomads, Fidelia would 
have thought that gnome-like figure, the shrivelled 
brown skin and beady eyes, the bent form hobbling 
away upon her stick, the bright red cap with its golden 
tassel, the long eardrops of coral that swung about 
the olive face, tanned with wind and sun, the black 
elfin locks — a pigment of fancy that had shaped it- 
self from the trees, the bushes and vines that glowed 
about them. 

The old woman’s words were graven upon her 
memory. Years would prove their falseness — or 
their truth! 


154 


A FIERY SWORD. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“Look. I shall quaff a cup 
To Fate;—” 

“ So you are going to leave us, madam? ” said 
General Southmaide, still holding his hostess’ hand 
and looking at her with grave, kindly eyes and a 
frank, honest face. 

** Yes, she goes to seek the 

'Angels ever bright and fair,^ ” 

trilled Mayme. Then pausing, she laughingly ex- 
claimed: “ Pardon me cousin Fidelia — General? the 

words seemed so apropos^ 

Mrs. Griscom’s play was finished. It had been 
read and favorably commented upon by General 
Southmaide; and critically and carefully perused by 
Gordon Allerton; both agreeing that she had an 
original, creative imagination of great power, and that 
there was a refinement of sentiment, a quick dramatic 
perception and a delicacy of fancy in her writings that 
was peculiarly fascinating, and which should assure 
her success as a play-wright. 

Fidelia stood listening, with her soul in her eyes, 
to the favorable expressions of their opinion, and 
said as they ceased talking: 


A FIERY SWORD. 


155 


“ Ah, dear friends, how I love you for this ; and 
how grateful I am to you — to you both. Your 
praise and commendation sustain my spirit when it 
weakens under my own doubts; ” and as she stretched 
out her hands, each felt in her grasp the magnetism 
of her person, the magnetism of the grateful eyes 
shining so luminously up into their own. 

It is said that the glance of the purely intellectual 
woman has in it none of that magnetism of passion 
which thrills one, and that there is no magnetism in 
cold intellectuality, but that it is the passion in the 
eyes of a woman that makes her glance effective, and 
gives added charm and piquancy to her conversation. 

“ Well, you cannot deny,” said General South- 
maide, “ but that we have all rallied about you,” — 
glancing from one to another as he spoke, as if to 
assure them by his hearty look that he included all 
present in his speech, — “ to sustain you with our 
presence on the eve of so portentous a journey.” 

His expressions of good will were enthusiastically 
voiced by them all, and when Dinah, in snow-white 
kerchief and apron, a brilliant-hued cotton bandana 
encircling her head, appeared in the doorway, her 
black face beaming with good nature as she announc- 
ed in low tones, half a whisper, “ Miss Delie, dinner 
am ready,” it was a merry party that took their 
places at table. 

Fidelia had thought such an occasion a fitting 
one for bidding farewell to her friends, and had in- 
vited them to come and dine and spend this, her last, 


A FIERY SWORD. 


156 

evening at home with her in their usual informal 
way. The table decorations were simple but effec- 
tive. Fidelia’s deft fingers had arranged a charming 
centre-piece of autumn leaves, and a vine with scarlet 
berries trailed artistically across the table, while the 
small boutonieres of violets placed at each cover 
filled the room with their sweet odor. 

Colonel Stanwood, with his usual generosity of 
heart, had contributed a few bottles of old Madeira 
which age had made priceless; and as the glasses 
amber with the golden liquid was placed before them, 
Fidelia laughingly related, regardless of Dinah’s pres- 
ence, how that worthy soul had berated the careless- 
ness of the Colonel’s “ niggers ” in not “ eben using 
a dustin’ rag on them befo’ sendin’ em to Miss Delie! ” 

Someone proposed a toast to the “ new play,” call- 
ing upon Gordon Allerton for a speech. There was 
a musical clinking of glasses and then he arose. Hold- 
ing the fragile glass that glowed with the pale, yellow 
fire out before him, he paused a minute and then said : 

“ May the ‘ new play ’ become as popular with the 
public as — ” hesitating a moment, as if seeking a 
happy comparison, he looked around the table, smil- 
ing at the expectant expression on all faces, and 
then his eyes falling once more on the amber liquid — 
as good wine which age but improves, is with all 
men ! ” and raising the glass to his lips he bowed to 
his hostess, and drained it off amidst hearty cheers 
from all. 


A FIERY SWORD. I57 

What about the W. C. T. U.’s?” laughingly in- 
quired Mayme. 

“ I said ‘ all men ’ ’tis true,” replied Allerton, “ but 
I hope the play will be just as popular with the 
ladies.” 

“ Oh, it is sure to be; that is — if she can secure one 
or two ‘matinee idols’ for the cast;” answered 
Mayme. 

All this time Gilbert sat at the head of the table 
inwardly taciturn and gloomy, forcing himself to ap- 
pear pleased at the turn of affairs; but, too evidently, 
in the merriment and not of it. He vouchsafed a 
word now and then to Mrs. Allerton, who sat on his 
right, but as she, herself, was not celebrated for her 
volubility of speech or quickness of wit, little was said 
upon either side. That he should appear “ gloomy ” 
was to be expected, since he was so soon “ to be 
left all alone in his glory,” as Mayme put it. That 
he was taciturn was a natural habit, hence his silence 
went unnoticed, especially as Mayme’s bright sallies 
kept that end of the table convulsed with laughter. 
That her speeches were not always approved she knew 
by the lowering brows and severe expression which 
occasionally tightened around Mrs. Allerton’s lips. 
While this evidence of her disapproval only made the 
keener Mayme’s desire to shock her feelings the more. 

The conversation turned upon Fidelia’s approach- 
ing departure. The metropolis of the east was a 
land of distant enchantment to all as they expressed 
themselves envious of Mrs. Griscom’s opportunities. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


158 

“That city offers so many advantages it will be 
like drinking from the Fountain Head of Knowledge! ” 
said General Southmaide. “ It has been some years 
since I was there, and the chances are greater now 
than then.” 

“Yes. Only remember!” said Mayme brightly, 
“ that we are advised to 

* Drink deep or taste not of the Pierian Spring.’ ” 

“ Paradoxical advice if applied to all drinks ! ” sug- 
gested Allerton, laughingly. 

“ Oh, I am eager to be off! ” said Fidelia. “ When 
I think of the lectures I shall be able to attend; the 
operas I shall hear; the art galleries to visit; the pros- 
pects are alluring — enchanting ! ” 

“ I should love to accompany her; if only for the 
operas alone ; ” remarked Gilbert, quietly, with a faint 
sigh for the unknown glories of such music. “ — Per- 
haps we will go together the next time. Delie? ” Look- 
ing across the table with a fond, though saddened 
smile at his wife. 

“I hope so;” she replied, simply. 

“ Oh, Cousin Fidelia will come back so worldly- 
wise she will be one of the shining lights of society 
ever afterwards — able to set the fashions for le bon 
ton:* 

“ Oh, no;” laughed Mrs. Griscom. “ I have no 
ambition in that direction. I’ll leave that to the 
followers of Doucet, Worth, or Redfern.” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


159 


‘‘You mean the followers of Butterick?” laughed 
Mayme. “ Whoever saw a Doucet gown in this 
little country town?” 

“We must change the subject; ” remonstrated Mrs. 
Griscom, “ or the men will have additional proof that 
where women are congregated the most interesting 
and inspiring topic is ‘ dress ’ — but not for them,” 
she added. 

“ Well, since the subject of adornment was a mo- 
mentous one in the Garden of Eden, we daughters of 
Eve should, I think, be excused for the hereditary 
trait — ” answered Mayme, unsmiling. 

“ Poor old Adam and Eve ! They have had to 

shoulder many sins ; ” interrupted Allerton, laughing. 

“Oh, well;” interposed General Southmaide, 
“ Carlyle called man an ‘ omnivorous Biped that 
wears breeches ’ — ^but he said nothing — ” 

“ Now one might have expected that from ‘ Mrs. 
Jane;'” laughed Fidelia, “but not from him.” 

“ Possibly he considered the ‘ breeches ' of more 
value than the man;” said Mayme. “But a man 
likes to see a woman nicely dressed; does he not. 
General?” and she enlisted his favor with an arch 
smile. 

“Yes,” replied General Southmaide; “I frankly 
confess that I am not one of the believers in beauty 
unadorned.” 

“ I beg to differ with you,” exclaimed Allerton. 
“ Who would ‘paint the lily, or gild the rose? — But 


l6o A FIERY SWORD. 

then, a man never knows how a woman is dressed, 
anyway ! ” 

“ He may not be able to describe minutely and in 
detail as a woman would do,” said Mayme, “but if 
the general effect is pleasing he is satisfied. Now 
isn't that true?” and she gave the General another 
appealing look. 

“Yes; quite true; ” he assented. It did not mat- 
ter at that moment whether Mayme’s dress was of 
cotton or of silk. The only thing of which he was 
certain was that one of earth’s fairest creatures was 
smiling up at him out of eyes of limpid blue, and that 
her lips, like moist strawberries, were parted tempt- 
ingly. 

Fidelia wisely led the conversation into a differ- 
ent channel by expressing the hope that General 
Southmaide would be successful in the Congressional 
campaign, upon which he was soon to enter. 

“Well, I know;” he averred, “though my Re- 
publican friends do hold the majority, the victory is 
not always to the strong. I am hopeful.” 

“And so are we all;” exclaimed Fidelia. “You 
are so successful in all your legal fights that we will 
hope that this essayal for your country’s benefit will 
prove no exception.” 

“ I shall stand by Right even though I fall by 
Might!” he answered simply. 

“ A good motto. General ; ” said Gordon Aller- 
ton. 

After dinner Mrs. Griscom led the way into the 


A FIERY SWORD. l6l 

parlor. Mayme seated herself at the piano and half- 
laughing, half-singing, repeated some old sing-song 
verses, ending with: 

“There was a piper had a cow, 

He had no hay to give her; 

He took his pipes, begun to play. 

Consider, good cow, consider.” 

Surely, Mayme dear,” we deserve something 
better than the tune the “ old cow died of,” remon- 
strated Colonel Stanwood. Can’t you and Bertie 
give us some music? ” 

Mr. Griscom brought his violin and they played 
several overtures to well-known operas. Mrs. Gris- 
com, who had a pleasing voice, though uncultivated, 
sang several simple songs with which all were de- 
lighted. After which Mayme rendered in her own 
bright style some of the darkey songs belonging to 
the old South. These were her father’s favorites; 
reminding him of his boyhood days, days when he 
had spent hours at the “ negro quarters ” listening 
to these melodies accompanied by the “ ceaseless turn 
turn of de ole banjo, and the merry twang of de fiddle 
an’ de bow.” All hands joining in the refrain as 
they rocked their bodies to the rise and fall of the 
melody, or kept time to the jigs danced by the young- 
er bucks in the glory of their youth, laughing with 
the rest when aged Sambo or Susannah “ jined ” in. 
Oh, the merry nights of the Corn Huskings in the 
great barn, and afterwards the dance to which the 
whole country-side would be invited. Such mem- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


162 

ories were very dear to him, and Mayme’s songs, 
which she had learned from the lips of her “ old black 
Mammy,” never failed to arouse them. He could 
always see her as she looked when a tiny tot in white 
pinafore and blue sash and ribbons, that held up her 
flaxen tresses. Brought in when there were visitors 
by her adoring black slave, who stood back at a 
distance, her hands clasped over her white apron, lis- 
tening with an expression of ineffable sweetness on 
her homely black face, while her “ HI missie ” piped 
out in a musical, childish treble, the words she had 
learned at her knee. 

Ah, those good old days! 

No wonder the songs of the old South have out- 
lived its warmest patriots. 

Mayme arose from the piano amidst a clamor of 
praise. Her eyes caught General Southmaide’s from 
where he sat listening and in conversation with Mrs. 
Allerton and her father, and there was a light in them 
that made her lower her own shyly as she made her 
way across the room to an unoccupied seat near Mrs. 
Griscom. 

“Your songs are inimitable. Miss Mayme!” ex- 
claimed Gordon Allerton, “ those quaint, plaintive 
negro melodies will never lose their charm.” 

“Not for me, anyway;” she answered simply. 
“ I have been raised on them. I seem to remember 
them from my cradle.” 

“ What a splendid memory you must have! ” 
laughed Mrs. Griscom. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


163 

“ It does seem a long time ago,” replied Mayme. 

' Art is long and Time is fleeting,’ ” quoted Aller- 
ton, “ should be changed to “ Youth is short and Time 
is fleeting.” “ It is in Youth that we create ideals 
for Time to shatter. It is in Youth that we raise 
up idols for Time to crumble into dust at our feet. 
Ah, it is Youth that is fleeting and Time that is long. 
The dreams of Youth are shattered by Time as cruelly 
as the wind tears away the full-blown rose, scattering 
its fragrant petals about the garden. But the rose 
has fulfilled its destiny. It was born to waste its 
sweetness upon the wandering breezes, while others 
blossom to bring cheer to the invalid, to beautify our 
homes, or to nestle daintily behind my lady’s ear;” 
nodding significantly to the pale pink blush rose that 
half-hid itself coquettishly in Mayme’s golden tresses. 

“ But do you not believe in living up to one’s 
ideals?” queried Fidelia. 

“Yes; so far as one can. Hide not your light 
under a bushel is what the Good Book says. Be 
natural. Whatever your destiny. Fate will lead you 
along the way. I contend, however, that if a man 
has genius there is no such thing as hiding it under 
a bushel, it will discover itself to the world.” 

“ Then you are a Fatalist? ” said Mayme. 

“ No; not in the strictest sense of the word.” 

“ But you believe that what is to be will be? ” 
asked Mrs. Griscom. 

“Without doubt; it is demonstrated daily.” 

“It is hard to live up to one’s highest ideals;” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


164 

sighed Fidelia. “ Life tends to make one superficial, 
and we are false to our principles before we realize 
it. There are times when the best of us are possessed 
by impulses that to yield to would rebound upon 
others; and I claim that we have no right to yield 
to such impulses or to live in any way that involves 
others in our downfall.” 

“ Our lives are our own ; ” insisted Mayme. 

Quite true ; ” she readily assented. “ But in 
living them they are so closely interwoven with the 
lives of others — the influence of our actions so far 
reaching — that our first thought should be to con- 
sider what effect a single action of ours would have 
upon some one else. What is stronger, more subtle, 
than the influence of example? And some are so 
impressionable, so susceptible to influence, and so 
vacillating, that a single thought expressed at the 
right moment would warp their character for a life- 
time.” 

“ Now there I do not agree with you; ” exclaimed 
Allerton. One whose ideas are so easily moulded, 
whose mind is so easily influenced has no character. 
A strong character may vacillate at times as the flick- 
ering of a candle before the wind, but just as the can- 
dle glows brighter afterward, so our lives become 
stronger as we resist temptation.” 

Well,” put in Mayme, brightly, “ as Character is 
the garment a man makes himself, and Reputation 
a suit made by the world, it is best to keep our credit 
good at the tailor’s.” 


A FIERY SWCRD. 


165 

“ Live up to that idea, daughter, and you will be 
all right!” exclaimed Colonel Stanwood, proudly, as 
he arose to say good night. 

On leaving, Mayme promised to call the next 
day with the carriage and take Mrs. Griscom to the 
station; “and as I hate leave-takings, anyway, I will 
postpone mine until to-morrow, so au revoir my dear 
cousin I ” 

Mrs. Allerton bade Fidelia a cordial good-bye, 
with many wishes for a pleasant journey and the 
greatest success. Allerton’s good-bye was hearty 
enough, too, but she wished there had been some 
slight pressure of the hand or some word which be- 
tokened more than a friendly interest in her future 
welfare. She felt disappointed in his manner towards 
her. True, there was no opportunity for words the 
world might not hear, “ but still — ” she thought — “ he 
might have conveyed in some way his sense of regret 
that she would be absent from home for some time.” 


i66 


A FIERY SWORD. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“Honor travels in a strait so narrow. 

Where one but goes abreast: 

Keep then the path." 

“ Goodbye, dear cousin ; a hon voyage and heaps of 
success — success beyond your wildest dreams!” 
cried Mayme, enthusiastically, as Mrs. Griscom lean- 
ed out the window to grasp her hand once more. 
“ How I do hate to see you go — no, I don’t mean 
that; but how I do wish I could go with you! ” 

“ I wish so, too. Wouldn’t it be delightful? ” 
replied Fidelia, smiling down upon the half-wistful, 
envious face on the platform. 

A warning shriek from the engine; and with a 
wave of her hand, Mayme wafted a kiss from the tips 
of her fingers, as she followed the receding form at 
the window with smiling and affectionate eyes as 
long as the train was in sight. 

Mrs. Griscom occupied the through sleeper for 
the East, and as soon as the train steamed out of the 
station, she drew down the window and turned her 
attention to those within. Looking about her she 
saw she was unacquainted with any of her fellow 
passengers, so she calmly proceeded to make herself 


A FIERY SWORD. 167 

comfortable for the journey, disposing of her um- 
brella and wraps in the rack above her. For all the 
studied precision of her actions there was a lack of 
repose in her manner as she seated herself in the 
corner nearest the window. She glanced about her 
once more, as if to make sure that there was no one 
she knew upon the train, and her look of disappoint- 
ment deepened as she turned with gloomy discontent 
towards the rain-streaked window and saw that it 
was only by pressing her face close up against the 
beaded glass that she could distinguish objects out- 
side the car. She was disappointed at this also, 
because she felt that even the sight of telegraph poles 
scudding past would have been welcome. She had 
not travelled enough to feel at home upon the train 
and wondered how she would pass the time away. 
She hoped it would not rain all the time. Despair- 
ing of any amusement or pleasure to be had from 
the scene outside, she opened her hand-bag and took 
out a book, turned it over, held it in her hand a mo- 
ment, then looking at its title in a vague sort of way 
laid it down on the seat beside her. She did not 
feel like reading just yet. There was an exquisite 
sensation of novelty about her leaving everyone she 
knew behind her and going into a strange country 
all alone. There was such a pleasurable sense of 
independence about it. She felt cold with the ex- 
citement of it all. The looking ahead. New York 
was such a big place — a world in itself. The mecca 
of her hopes for so long. God grant that it would 


A FIERY SWORD. 


l68 

receive her kindly! She had planned this trip so 
long ago ; and now, at last, she was on her way. She 
wished somebody she knew had been going with her. 
Ah, well! and she caught her breath with a sigh. 
There comes a time in the lives of all for individual 
battle, and victory after a single-handed fight is al- 
ways the more glorious. Her heart was heavy with 
an intangible something closely bordering on disap- 
pointment, though she had not embodied her feelings 
in words. Her eyes had strained until they ached for 
the sight of some familiar face other than Mayme’s 
at the station. She turned towards the window again 
but it was beaded with rain-drops and clouded with 
the heat of the car. The day being so stormy had 
no doubt prevented some of her women friends from 
coming. Then she smiled bitterly as she thought 
how few of her own sex she could count upon as her 
friends. Her lips quivered and her eyes filled with 
tears as she thought that of all her pretended friends 
not one cared enough to come to the train to see 
her off. Gilbert, of course, could not. There was 
his work at the office. But then, there were others. 
Gordon Allerton had said nothing about coming, but 
she took his silence on the subject the night before 
for granted that he meant to come. She had hoped 
that his hand would be the last to press her own, and 
his voice the last to wish her Godspeed on her journey. 
It was hard enough to leave him; to be separated 
from him for even a short time, for although their 
association had not been a daily one, the knowledge 


A FIERY SWORD. 


169 

that they were encompassed by the same circle of 
Life made them feel nearer to each other, and she 
knew that at any time she had but to wave her hand 
as he passed her window on his way home and he 
would only too gladly break his daily walk for a few 
words with her. 

Ah, such sweet hours of companionship! 

There were stolen minutes that were precious! 
Why he had failed her now was an enigma. Pick- 
ing up her book, she idly turned a leaf or two and 
laid it down again. She thought impatiently of the 
steady downpour; the gray skies. This storm of 
wind and rain was enough to fill the heart of a braver 
woman with misgiving. But then she did not in- 
tend to let the weather affect her spirits; there was 
too much to look forward to! Too much at stake! 
Coming to this philosophical conclusion, she picked 
up her book, determined to forget herself for the time 
being and find an interest in the woes of some other 
individual. An ironical smile played about her 
mouth as she observed for the first time that it was 
Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables ” that she had selected 
to enliven her trip. 

The opening and closing of a door attracted her 
attention and her eyes grew big with astonishment 
as she looked up, a pleasurable surprise and won- 
der creeping into them as she saw Gordon Allerton 
making his way down the aisle towards her. 

“Well?” he asked, as he sat down beside her, 


170 A FIERY SWORD. 

smiling at the various changes of her countenance. 
“ Are you not glad to see me? ” 

She was; inexpressibly glad, but she said noth- 
ing; looking at him questioningly, whilst a thousand 
and one thoughts flitted through her mind. 

“ Did not your heart tell you there was some- 
thing behind the imposed formal goodbye of last 
night? Did you think that I would be content to let 
you go without — ” 

“ But — ” and she looked at him with a half-fright- 
ened expression, as her mind rapidly foresaw the con- 
sequences, “ — I do not — understand! You surely 
are not going to New York? ” 

“ Why not? ” amused at her anxious look. 

“You said nothing about it?” 

“ No; I know I didn’t,” he laughed. “ I wanted 
to take you by surprise I ” 

“ Well, I confess, you have succeeded,” she re- 
plied, coldly. 

“ Surely,” he asked, very seriously, “ we can travel 
by the same train? ” 

“ I suppose so.” 

“ But I had expected you would be very glad to 
see me? ” interrogatively, after a short silence, in which 
she looked out of the window. “ You are not a 
bit? ” he said reproachfully, as he noticed the frigid 
expression that had settled about her mouth. 

She turned her eyes upon him, there was mingled 
reproof and a desire not to offend in their depths. 


A FIERY SWORD. I/I 

“ Does — ” she hesitated, and then asked: “ Does 
your wife know?” 

“ Such a question! ” 

And he laughed nervously. 

“Well, — no! I confess I did not say anything 
to her about it. She might have raised objections,” 
he said lightly. “ But if you continue to look at me 
in that reproachful way, I shall be sorry I came; 
and, — if I am powerless to melt the icicles in your 
tones I may, perhaps, find it warmer in the other 
car.” 

She flashed a questioning, appealing look at him. 

“As you like?” she replied, coolly. 

Amused at her serious face and tones, he con- 
tinued to jest with her until the conductor made his 
appearance. 

“ I am only going as far as Knoxville; ” he said, 
and putting his hand in his pocket he drew out a 
handful of silver, giving the conductor his ticket and 
the usual extra fee for a seat in the sleeping-coach. 

Fidelia’s change of countenance was instanta- 
neous. 

“ How could you? ” she asked reproachfully, smil- 
ing, though her eyes filled with happy tears. 

“ Now you look like your own dear self! ” he ex- 
claimed. “ But I do believe you are weeping for 
joy at the knowledge that I am not to accompany 
you.” 

“Forgive me, — that I so misjudged you!” and 


A FIERY SWORD. 


172 

she stretched out her hand impulsively. But you 
took me so by surprise.” 

“I intended to;” he answered, looking at her 
quizzically, from the corner of his eyes. “ I knew 
you would be moping and sighing your heart out be- 
cause it was so stormy. And I was right; a more 
disconsolate looking mortal could not have greeted 
my sight than when I opened the door and spied you 
sitting back here.” 

“ I was just going to read my book; ” she laughed. 

“ What? The expression on your face then was 
not keenly anticipative of the enjoyment of your oc- 
cupation;” he continued jocularly. “Now, come, 
confess that you were just a wee bit blue? ” 

“ As blue as indigo! ” she affirmed. “ But then,” 
hastening to bring forth an excuse for this self- 
confessed mood, “ you must admit that the weather 
is not conducive to good spirits.” 

“Well,” he hummed, “it is a trifle lugubrious;” 
looking at the rain-beaded window. “ But then the 
weather, like our spirits, brightens after a copious fall 
of rain. A storm betokens a calm. It is the in- 
evitable law of reaction that animates all nature. 
To-morrow — why, to-morrow, the sun will be shin- 
mg. 

“ That is good philosophy, no doubt; ” she answer- 
ed; “as our friend, the General would say, but you 
remember what Shakespeare says along the same 
line?” 


A FIERY SWORD. I73 

“No; 1 can’t say that I do; he has said so much 
that is worth remembering.” 

“ ‘ Every one can master a grief but he who has 
it.’ It is very good of you to take pity on my loneli- 
ness;” she said gratefully. 

“Oh, then you were glad to see me!” teasingly 
persistent. 

Fidelia looked at him a moment archly, and then 
said with mock determination : “ I refuse to affirm 
or deny your statement.” 

And then with all the contrariety and inconsisten- 
cy of human nature, as soon as she remembered that 
he was only going to the next stopping point, she 
began to wish that he could accompany her all the 
way. Knowing that such a wish was impossible, the 
feeling that they two were alone, or comparatively 
so, and travelling away from the world that they 
knew, — the world that observed and criticised all one’s 
actions — was a delightful one. 

Allerton caught something of the spirit of this 
feeling; “ I really shall miss you very much; ” he said 
thoughtfully. “ I have lived from day to day on the 
hope of seeing and being with you — if it were only 
for a half hour — or even five minutes; it was some- 
thing to look forward to. But,” — taking out his 
watch, “ I have not had luncheon ; ” and he reached 
over and rang the bell. 

The mulatto porter in the brass buttons and uni- 
form of the Pullman service soon obsequiously 
spread a tempting array of edibles before them. For 


174 


A FIERY SWORD. 


years afterwards the sight of apricots smothered in 
cream recalled this trip to Fidelia’s memory with a 
vividness that was exquisite pain. The partaking of 
this light repast together and under such circum- 
stances added to the delightful sensation of aloof- 
ness from the world. A barren desert would have 
been Elysian fields for them to roam over. 

I wish this journey could continue throughout 
an eternity — ” said Allerton, as, the porter having re- 
moved the small table, he once more resumed his 
seat by her side, — “ what more would we ask of 
Fate?” and his arm slipped around her waist with a 
caressing sense of possession. “Oh, let us go on, 
on, far away from this world of ours! — somewhere 
there must be, — somewhere, there are Edens for those 
brave enough to seek them I ” 

“ You forget the Angel with the Flaming 
Sword at the gate of Eden; — ” she answered sadly, — 
“ he who guards the gateway to that ‘ Holy of Holies,^’ 
the inner temple of Happiness — our Conscience! He 
represents both — the world’s opinion of the step you 
contemplate, and the fiery sword of our own con- 
science. I don’t know which of the two hurts 
worse — ” 

“ But we will brave that; ” he said eagerly, — “ but 
say the word and we will continue this journey into 
foreign climes! Just fancy, dear one,” tenderly per- 
suasive, “ you and I together in some secluded beau- 
tiful villa — in Italy say — away up on a mountain side, 
overlooking the sea ; where the roses bloom the whole 


A FIERY SWORD. 


I7_5 

year round, surrounded by groves of orange trees; 
shut in by vines and flowers; away from the critical, 
carping world — fanned by the softest, fragrant, semi- 
tropical breezes, and with only the birds as our near- 
est neighbors to warble their sweetest carols upon 
the sweet-scented summer air. But say the word!” 
he implored eagerly, “ and we will go so far away, 
the loudest shrieks of envy will not reach our ears 1 ” — 

“ Scandal, — calumny! you mean; ” she interrupted, 
bravely. 

“ Call it what you will, — it will die away! and only 
the gentlest breath of the past be wafted to us ! ” 

Fidelia felt with exquisite sensibility the possible 
happiness in the picture he held out to her so allur- 
ingly. “ Oh! If — ! ” there was a quick-catching of 
her breath that was painful, as she thought: “ If 
there were no Bertie; no Mrs. Allerton; no children — 
to break their hearts — to suffer! No, — no! the 
thought itself was a weakness.” 

Even if we were brave enough,” she said aloud, 
to tread the perilous pathway in defiance of what 
our little world might think,” she argued earnestly, 
there would always be the silent presence of Re- 
morse — the worm eating away at the heart of the 
rose — and Remorse is apt to become an unpleasant 
companion; — even in the aromatic fields of Elysium! ” 
she added in a lighter tone. 

Allerton looked at her a moment, silently re- 
proachful; lovingly. 

‘‘ Dear heart! You are a brave little woman — 


A FIERY SWORD. 


176 

stronger than I,” he said sadly, drawing her closer 
to his side. “No matter how alluringly I present 
the pictures, you are not to be tempted.” 

“ Only in duty, they say, lies happiness. It is but 
a half-hearted happiness at times;” she murmured. 

“Yes; I know! ” replied Allerton, sympathetically. 
“ In fact, who is more capable of knowing — or who 
knows it better than he who hourly faces temptation 
of this kind?” 

“ Put it from you ; ” she implored, “ you have 
always been the strong one — on whose strength I 
have relied — must rely; dear friend, — my Fidus 
Achates \ do not fail me now!” 

“ Dear heart, you are and have ever been the 
stronger of the two; ” he asserted sadly. I am but a 
broken reed in the wind where you are concerned! ” 

After this confession of weakness Fidelia very 
wisely remained silent. She felt that the conversa- 
tion was a dangerous one, and was desirous of chang- 
ing the subject. 

The rain still beat pitilessly against the window, 
and the roar of the wind could be heard above the 
roar of the train. Autumn was dying hard! The 
porter came around and soon the yellow lights from 
the lamps flashed through the darkness deepening 
within the car. In the distance could be seen the 
lights from scattered farmhouses, shining like bea- 
cons along the way. 

The lighting of the lamps seemed to disturb the 
reverie into which Allerton had fallenj “ I do not 


A FIERY SWORD. 


177 

know why,” he said, “ but I was thinking of a grace- 
ful little story that I read not long ago concerning the 
Hindoo origin of woman — ” 

Fidelia looked up at him, brightly attentive; 
*‘Yes?” she said expectantly. 

“ It is rather long to repeat word for word, but 
in the belief that you will enjoy it I will risk boring 
you. ‘ Twashtri,’ ” he continued, ‘ “ wishing to create 
a woman, found that he had exhausted all his mate- 
rial in the making of man, having no solid elements 
left; so after profound meditation, he took the rotundi- 
ty of the moon, and the curves of creepers, and the 
clinging of tendrils, and the trembling of grass, and 
the slenderness of the reed, and the bloom of the 
flowers, and the lightness of the leaves, and the glances 
of the deer, and the joyous gayety of sunbeams, and 
the weeping of clouds, and the fickleness of the winds, 
and the timidity of the hare, and the vanity of the 
peacock, and the softness of the parrot’s bosom, and 
the hardness of adamant, and the sweetness of honey, 
and the cruelty of the tiger, and the warm glow of 
fire, and the coldness of snow, and the chattering of 
jays — and compounding all these together he made 
woman and gave her to man. But after one week 
man came to him and said : “ Lord, this creature 

thou hast given me makes life miserable. She chat- 
ters incessantly, and takes all my time up, and cries 
about nothing, and is always idle, so I have come 
to give her back again.” So Twashtri took her 
back, and after a week man came again and said; 


A FIERY SWORD. 


178 

Lord, I find my life is very lonely since I gave you 
back that creature. I remember how she used to 
dance and sing to me, and look at me out of the cor- 
ner of her eye, and play with me and cling to me.” 
So Twashtri gave her back, and in three days more 
man returned again and said: “ Lord, I do not know 
how it is, but after all I have come to the conclusion 
she is more of a trouble than a pleasure to me, so 
please take her back again.” But Twashtri said, 
“Be ofl:; you must manage how you can.” The 
man answered, I cannot live with her. And Twash- 
tri replied, neither can you live without her.’ ” 

“That is a charming little story!” exclaimed Fi- 
delia, laughing when he had finished; “and rather 
more poetical than the ‘ rib ’ version.” 

“ Oh, that is a debt you women can never repay I ” 

“You present us with the bill often enough,” she 
retorted, laughingly. 

The time passed all too quickly. The lighting 
of the lamps seemed to have dispelled the gloom 
from both their minds, and both took a more cheer- 
ful view of their separation. 

What mattered grey skies, and weeping heavens 
now! 

What did they talk of? 

A thousand and one nothings that fill the hours 
and leave no deeper impress than a sweet longing. 
There were many sweet silences. The language of 
love is not always a spoken one. 

All too soon, the train thundered into the station. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


179 


Allerton leaned over and kissed her goodbye. He 
strained her yielding form to his, loth to let her go. 
“ This is my reward,” he murmured, as he felt her 
lips responsive to his own. 

It was the first time that she had ever voluntarily 
raised her face to his. 

“ Goodbye, my love, my most precious one ! It 
is your fault that I do not accompany you all the 
way; ” and he pressed her to his heart once more. 

“Oh, do not say that!” and she looked at him 
wistfully through her tears. “ It is the juggling of 
Fate.” 

Allerton left the train, and wandered the length 
of the street to the river, glad of the respite the interval 
of waiting afforded him before taking the down-go- 
ing express home. 

The night had fallen early, and the streets had 
a drenched, deserted appearance, in keeping with the 
empty, deserted shops that, finding it yet too early 
to close their doors, alluringly sent out great wide 
tracks of light across the wet, shining pavements. 
The wind whirled itself angrily at him from every 
street corner, and he drew his ulster closer about his 
throat; there was a penetrating chilliness in the damp- 
ness of the atmosphere. There was, however, some- 
thing in the raw, cold air that harmonized with his 
feelings for the moment — his heart felt washed out, 
empty, and aching with loneliness; — a barren, sandy 
waste, across whose cold white surface lay only the 


l8o A FIERY SWORD. 

imprint of feet that had wandered on and left him 
alone, denying him even the comfort of following. 
Before him had lain happiness and the elusive at- 
traction of the unknown, while Duty pressed close- 
ly behind, urging him with many claims not to for- 
sake her. It was hard to turn away from the pleas- 
ant picture that some devilish fancy had conjectured 
in his mind, when he had found himself beside her 
on the train, the beauty of which had only been marred 
by her refusal to view it in the same light. It 
had been impulsively painted, without forethought or 
premeditation, and it should be just as impulsively 
wiped out 

“ She was right; ” he said to himself, as he paused 
at the bridge that crossed the river at the foot of the 
street “She was right!” and he stood a few mo- 
ments lost in thought “ In duty lies only a half- 
hearted happiness at best, — but infinitely more flatter- 
ing to one’s worldly vanity is the knowledge of right- 
doing.” 

Happily for him his philosophy never forsook him. 

The rain had ceased, and a few stars struggled 
out one at a time from the sullen skies to mirror 
their reflection in the black, turbid waters that rushed 
swollen and angrily past him. 

He stood there for some time, and then bethink- 
ing himself of the hour glanced at his watch to find 
he had but just time to catch his train. 

It was long past his usual hour for returning home 


A FIERY SWORD. 


I8l 

when he let himself into the house. His wife raised 
a questioning face towards him, as he greeted her 
with an assumed air of gayety. That she did not 
quizzically catechise him as to the why and the where- 
fore of his tardiness he felt doubly thankful, and it 
was with a twinge of conscience that he, without be- 
ing asked for a specific reason, unhesitatingly laid 
the blame upon an unexpected pressure of work at 
the office. He had not expected so calm a reception, 
his guilty mind having pictured a scene quite in con- 
trast to this welcome. 

“ It’s a cold, blowy night, Gordon ; such a day 
for that poor little woman to undertake such a jour- 
ney ! ” remarked Mrs. Allerton, as she drew near the 
fire and took up her knitting. “ I would have gone 
to the depot only for the rain. As I sat here, I 
thought to myself, shame upon such a friend who 
wouldna brave a little wet to say goodbye and God- 
speed you. I wonder that you didna go — ” she said 
suddenly — it was not so far from your office?” 

“That’s a fact;” replied Allerton, dryly. 

*‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave,” — 

he thought bitterly, holding his slippered feet nearer 
the fire; “But you know how busy I am lately;” 
he added as he drew a small memorandum from his 
pocket and jotted down a few reminders for the mor- 
row — things that had been neglected on account of 
his absence that afternoon. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


182 

His wife on seeing him thus engaged and think- 
ing that he evinced but little interest in the subject, 
anyway, said nothing more until he had finished. 

When she spoke again, it was merely to repeat 
some bright remark of Master Donald’s. 

“ They bairns are coming on ; ” she said shaking 
her head knowingly as she saw his appreciation of 
her story. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


183 


CHAPTER XV. 

“None but the brave deserve the fair.” 

“From every blush that kindles in thy cheeks, 

Ten thousand little loves and graces spring 
To revel in the roses.” 

General ” Hilton Southmaide, failing to secure 
his election to Congress, had resigned himself to the 
return to his law practice with renewed fervor if not 
vigor. 

The strain of constant travel and daily speech- 
making in every village and township within the con- 
gressional district had been trying, and showed its 
effect in his depleted strength, adding more gray hairs 
about his temples. He and his friends had made a 
hard fight; knowing almost from the beginning of his 
canvass, that, however able-gifted, his failure, owing 
to the greater majority of voters on the other side, 
was a certainty. He was a popular man with both 
sides, having served a long term as District Attorney 
General, retaining the title ever afterwards through 
the courtesy of his numerous friends. 

Depending only upon a small constituency, and 
knowing that he had but one chance in a thousand 
against his opponent, he had offered himself as a 


A FIERY SWORD. 


184 

willing victim of sacrifice upon the altar of Democra- 
cy. He had thrown himself into the caldron of this 
political canvass with all the enthusiasm of one whose 
democratic principles never swerved from loyalty to 
uphold his party. In his canvass he had given much 
prominence to the working-man’s interest, and, — 
wholly without thought of the political prestige that 
would accrue from it he gave himself heart and soul 
to what was more than party interest; — the moral 
uplifting of down-trodden Democracy. That he was 
tossed up and down, hither and thither, by the un- 
stable desires of his fellow-men before being finally 
rejected by them at the polls, was of no moment. 

Both time and money had been given freely to a 
good cause and he did not regret it. 

But while his failure to secure the coveted seat 
had left its mark on his face, he would not own to a 
sense of disappointment. The same kindliness and 
benevolence permeated all his actions. 

Those who knew him most intimately laughingly 
shrugged their shoulders and said he would soon find 
consolation in the love of Miss Stanwood; as all their 
friends who had watched the growing intimacy be- 
tween them knew, long before they, themselves, had 
seemed to realize it, that friendship had long since 
merged into love, conjecturing that he was only wait- 
ing to crown himself with congressional .honors be- 
fore offering his heart and hand to the young lady. 

Although, as Mayme’s friends rightly surmised, 
her deep interest in his canvass was evidently more 


A FIERY SWORD. 185 

to see the man succeed than to have his Party brought 
into prominence. Her esteem and admiration for 
General Southmaide’s nobility of character had grown 
from friendship into something stronger; — a feeling 
she had never analyzed, since it seemed impossible for 
any one to come in daily contact with him without 
imbibing the same lofty ideas and principles of action. 
To her he had become the Alpha and Omega of all 
things noble and manly. His tall, straight figure 
and the grand breadth of his shoulders was a tower 
of strength. She felt that in the noble poise of his 
head there was a stability of character that was the 
complement of all that was lacking in her own volatile 
nature. 

He had held back with all the shrinking hesita- 
tion of one who fails to appreciate his own merits as 
an offset to youth and beauty. 

“What am I?” he thought with humble self-de- 
preciation, as he noticed from day to day his rapidly 
whitening hair, smiling grimly at himself as he caught 
a passing glance now and then in some mirror. 
“ What am /? or why should I, long past the hey- 
day of my youth, seek to ensnare one worthy of a 
younger, more ardent affection?” not realizing that 
the depth of such a love as he could give her was 
worth a lifetime of a passion that would burn itself 
out within a few years by its own intensity. 

“ It would, in truth, be the union of May and De- 
cember,” he thought, contrasting the difference in 
their ages. Smiling to himself, as he said aloud: 


i86 


A FIERY SWORD. 


the warm days of May would melt the grey chilli- 
ness of December, and make it more tolerable, no 
doubt? ” But he was not so sure that May was will- 
ing to give up her young, glad days to the making 
more bright the declining rays of December. 

There was something akin to a dawning sense of 
disappointment in his heart as he thought: how 
she would have enjoyed life at the Capitol had he suc- 
ceeded. Her bright, young beauty would have been 
the life and gayety of the season; reflecting greater 
credit upon the wisdom of his selection, — and now,” 
with a keener sense than ever of his failure, “ what 
had he to offer her? — his love? Others could lay a 
worthier gift at her feet!” But then, he thought, 
longingly, how she would brighten the atmosphere 
of the old mansion whose walls had known silence 
for so long? His heart contracted as he thought 
of the loneliness of his life for so many years. He 
had been more than faithful to the memory of one 
who had joined hands gladly with him in the May- 
day of their youth, but whose life had gone out as 
quickly as that of a candle exposed to a sudden gust 
of wind, in her effort to yield proof of this love. It 
was the death of wife and child, — the death of hope, 
that had given that sad peculiar depth to his dark- 
gray eyes, so dark they gave the impression of being 
black at times, and which were both keen and kindly 
in their expression. 

Faint heart, thou hast fought too many battles 
to shrink now from fighting thine own!” Before 


A FIERY SWORD. 187 

another setting of the sun, “ he would know whether 
Fate had anything more in store for him than his 
lonely walk through life?” 

With this resolve effected, he laughed to himself, 
as he realized that he had sat for nearly two hours 
idly playing with an old paper cutter of antique de- 
sign; “ musing like a schoolboy! who sits,” he thought 
contemptuously, “ for hours whittling away at a stick 
with no more result than a pile of shavings about 
him.” Rising from his chair, he walked with a firm 
decided manner into an inner office where his over- 
coat habitually hung during the day. With a glance 
towards a small looking-glass that hung near the 
window, he smoothed down his tumbled locks, smil- 
ing a little as he recalled the fact that their dishevelled 
look was due to his having in his abstraction run 
his fingers carelessly through them at intervals all 
the afternoon. Giving the soft crown of his large 
black hat a sort of dent towards the left side, he 
drew it down over his eyes, and then turned toward 
his book-shelves. He glanced over the rows of 
calf-bound law-books, selected a couple after much 
consideration, reached for the large stick that he al- 
ways carried, gave a last look around the room and 
locked the door behind him for the night. 

It was his habit to read up any “ points ” needed 
in the preparation of a “ brief ” in the quietness of his 
home; where, after a certain hour, he was safe from 
interruptions. The carrying of this armful of books 
had become a second nature with him, and in his 


A FIERY 3WORD. 


l88 

long walk home in the evening he would have been 
as lost without them as without his old-fashioned 
hickory stick. 

The day had been a wet one, but from the after- 
math of a hidden sunset there were brilliant streak- 
ings of rose and crimson athwart the leaden sky, lend- 
ing a warmer glow to the grey, dying day. 

He was a rapid walker at all times, but the deter- 
mination to know his “ fate ” at once accelerated his 
speed, and his quick, long strides soon covered the 
distance between his office and home. 

Having partaken of the light repast which served 
him at even-tide, he awaited with impatience the hour 
appropriate for paying his devoirs to the young lady. 
Abstruse “ legal questions ” were as nothing compared 
to the weightier question of importance hanging upon 
the whim of a woman’s decision. His gaze sought 
the clock repeatedly as he paced restlessly up and 
down the long library, and when the hands wound 
around to the desired minute, it was with all the im- 
petuosity of a younger lover that he set forth upon 
his fateful errand. It was characteristic of his dis- 
position, that, having once settled upon the step he 
was about to take, he should give no thought to a 
possibility of its failure. In all the important events 
of his life the possibility of failure had never caused 
him to waver in his determination — whatever he un- 
dertook, it was with the intention of succeeding; and 
for this reason, he had been successful in most of the 
battles of life, whether legal or moral. 


A FIERY SWORD. 189 

Long before he reached Colonel Stanwood’s home, 
his eyes caught in the distance the light from the 
swinging lamp before the door, which burned like a 
beacon as he ascended the low hill upon which the 
house was situated. There seemed, too, as he came 
nearer, a welcome in the red glow, streaming through 
the windows, from the wood fire burning cheerily on 
the hearth; its flame ever and anon filling the unlight- 
ed room with brightness, dying down again leaving 
it in shadow. 

Mayme stood at the window with a wistful, ex- 
pectant look in her eyes. Her slender figure outlined 
against the heavy lace curtains, which now and again 
she parted, looking out with a lonely expression upon 
the gathering dusk. The fallen leaves, the bare black 
branches of the trees that swayed mournfully with the 
autumn winds; the drip, drip, of the eaves, making 
little black puddles on the gravelled walk around the 
house, the swinging lamp reflecting its light in the 
little pools of water; and the black leaves of the 
Madeira vine dead-like and clinging still about the 
portals recalled the lines of Longfellow’s “ Rainy 
Day.” And as the words 

" The vine still clings to the mouldering wall 
And at every gust its dead leaves fall,” 

half-unconsciously repeated themselves through her 
mind, she heard a footfall on the damp gravel, and 
parting the curtains she looked out upon the dark- 


190 A FIERY SWORD. 

ness once more. The General coming into the path 
of light sent out from the lamp swinging under the 
eaves, looked up in time to catch a swift glance of 
Mayme’s face at the window, and the smile that light- 
ened it up as she hastily withdrew herself. 

The scarlet glow of the flickering flames on the 
hearth encircled the trim figure as she stood outlined 
for a brief space against the yellowed curtains, leav- 
ing stray lights in the gold of her hair, reflecting 
brightly in the cameo-medallions linked into a girdle 
about her waist. Her white cloth gown with its 
slender bands of sable was cut low at the neck, re- 
vealing the curves of her fair young throat, which 
rivalled in whiteness the strands of pearls fastened 
close about it. 

Her face brightened instantly and her heart sud- 
denly felt less gloomy as she heard the tinkling of the 
hall-bell. The ruddy glow of the flames and this 
sight of an unexpected visitor left a touch of crimson 
upon her fair face that lingered long after the lights 
were brought and the General ushered into the room. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


I9I 


CHAPTER XVL 

“Courage have I to face all bitter things, 

That start out darkly from the rugged path. 
Leading to life’s achievement;” 

Mrs. Griscom’s play inchoately embodied the ideas 
of the “ new drama.” Which, depending, as it does, 
rather more upon quiet intelligent repression and sup- 
pression, than action; rather more upon the scenic 
effects and posing of the characters, than the language 
used by them, to bring out the subtle points of the 
play and make its meaning and purpose clear to the 
audience, ^eems destined to revolutionize the drama 
as presented to-day and to become the perfection of 
Dramatic Art. Just as the Impressionist depends 
upon a lavish use of color to produce the wonderful 
effects, which at close range one finds mere daubing 
of blues and greens upon canvas, but which, from 
the proper distance lends charm and reality to the bit 
of Nature so vividly portrayed by the seeming reck- 
less use of the brush; just as Impressionism with- 
stood criticism, scoffing and ridicule and became an 
accepted School of Art, so will color, atmosphere and 
scenic effects materially aid in the future perfection 
of Art as seen upon the stage. But it is a far cry 


A FIERY SWORD. 


192 

before the things of to-day become the accepted facts 
of to-morrow; and the enthusiast who projects the 
idea meets with many disappointments, and, per- 
chance, Death, before the world is ready to accept it. 

Theatrical managers are rather skeptical as to the 
merits of such a play in these days of realism, and 
but for her confidence in its ultimate success, her 
calm determination to await patiently the result it 
merited, without undue railing at Fate, Fidelia would 
have grown very despondent over her failure to dis- 
pose of the manuscript. She had left it for perusal 
with the first manager she called upon with all the 
pride and hope of a mother in her first-born. When 
it was returned as “ not available,” she took its 
rejection as evidence of the short-sightedness of one 
who failed to appreciate this “child of her brain;” 
and as confidently carried it somewhere else. After 
repeated experiences of this sort, while her faith never 
wavered, she resented the length of time that each 
one kept the manuscript reposing in his office before 
notifying her of his decision. 

But she knew there was no hope of changing the 
methods of this august arbiter of the stage, having 
been repeatedly assured of this by the members of 
the “ profession,” who shared with her the hospitality 
of genial Miss Banks, who, — although long since 
forced to retire from active stagelife by the more inac- 
tive claims of obesity and old age, — took a profound 
interest in her “ guests ” and their every-day affairs. 

This “ profound interest ” on Miss Banks’ part was 


A FIERY SWORD. 


193 


not long in discovering Mrs. Griscom’s object in com- 
ing to New York; impelling her, much to Fidelia’s 
discomfiture when she descended to dinner for the , 
first time, to arise from the table with a flutter of 
excitement not in keeping with the aforesaid “ in- 
active claims;” — as she awaited with suppressed im- 
patience until the buzz and chatter had subsided and 
all eyes were turned upon the stranger. Bringing 
her forward with a flourish of affectation and the proud 
display of one who had unearthed a genius, present- 
ing her to the “ Ladies and Gentlemen ” with the in- 
formation that “ Mrs. Griscom has written a play and 
is here for the purpose of disposing of it. I have 
told her,” smiling interestedly, as she bowed from 
Fidelia towards her guests with a gesture of her hand 
meant to include them all, “ that among us,” raising 
herself with a queenly air of patronage, “ we may be 
able to give her a few points, and that she will find all 
members of the ‘ profession ’ ready and willing to 
give her the glad hand.” 

“ Wouldn’t that jar you?” was the sotto voce com- 
ment of some one, as an amused smile went round the 
table, while not a few bestowed an appreciative glance 
of welcome upon Mrs. Griscom as “ one of them,” 
supplementing their smiles with words of praise and 
encouragement. 

Fidelia was a very observant young woman and 
her glance travelled quickly around the table as she 
seated herself. During dinner she quietly noted the 
dress, peculiarities and affectations of each one. And 


A FIERY SWORD. 


194 

while she enjoyed the flashes of epigram, the quota- 
tions brought in so apropos, and their good-natured 
chaffing of each other, and admired the adroitness 
of others in turning a pun, she felt an inward shock 
when some of the women joined in the after-dinner 
cigarette, outrivalling masculinity in emitting curling 
white rings of smoke. Afterwards in her own room 
she wondered whether she could quite approve of it 
all? Remembering the whole-souled heartiness of 
their manner of receiving her; the absolute freedom 
from constraint in their conversation and the general 
air of bonhomie that prevailed, she felt that even if it 
was an affected naturalness on the part of a few, it 
was a sweet affectation, — a certain charm in this utter 
disregard for conventionality. Concluding that “ the 
same standard of life in the home could not prevail 
in a boarding-house. It would be provincialism 
on her part to expect it.” 

That night she wrote an amusing letter home to 
Gilbert, describing minutely and in detail her fellow- 
boarders; giving an interesting account of her expe- 
riences in finding a suitable abiding place. With her 
love of independence she had determined not to pre- 
sent the letter of introduction given her by General 
Southmaide, to an old college friend of his, until she 
had settled herself comfortably near the centre of the 
city, “ somewhere where she could feel the heart of 
theatrical life throbbing about her.” And how, al- 
though a stranger she soon discovered that the little 
white slips of paper seen on so many front doors 


A FIERY SWORD. 


195 


meant that hospitality was offered by those within for 
an equivalent. With her keen sense of humor, she 
related how one of these little white slips led her in- 
side the portals of what proved to be a boarding- 
house and private matrimonial agency combined, and 
how she was eagerly assured a “ rich husband ” if she 
would only engage to live there a few weeks: a chef 
from one of the millionaire homes on Fifth Avenue 
having decided to open a hotel in a small town, want- 
ed a wife to help manage it. “ Truly, dear Bertie,” 
she wrote, there are more things in a great city 
than ever dreamed of in our philosophy.” 

Life in New York was full of surprises. There 
was so much to be seen, and to Fidelia everything was 
so delightfully new and novel that she was joyous 
and elated over it all. Never doubting the ultimate 
success of her mission, buoyant in spirit, the first few 
weeks passed away very rapidly. She whiled away 
the time “ between acts ” as she ironically referred to 
the length of time consumed by managers in reading 
her play in sight-seeing and, as she was an indefatig- 
able seeker after knowledge, in getting new material 
for future work. 

She presented her letter and became quite friendly 
with the Archibald Clavering Baldwins, deeply 
grateful for the interest they manifested in a compara- 
tive stranger — encouraging her from time to time with 
hopes of success. She became as friendly with Mrs. 
Archibald Clavering Baldwin as was possible with 
women whose natures and dispositions were so differ- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


196 

ent, and whose aims in life were so entirely, dissimilar. 
But the gentle Theodosia’s patronage was quite too 
patent. Fidelia preferred seeing as much of the city as 
she could during her stay to wasting her time sipping 
tea in the over-heated, crowded drawing-rooms of this 
devotee of society. She loved better to wander 
through the long rooms looking at and enjoying the 
pictures and hric a brae, the faence and riches of the 
Orient gathered there, than to enter into the chatter 
of the smartly gowned women who thronged them. 
She had not the gift of small talk with which other 
v/omen amused themselves and passed the time away, 
and when forced to listen, her half-proud, half-re- 
proachful attitude seemed an unconscious rebuke to 
their meaningless twaddle. 

Archibald Clavering Baldwin, an old classmate of 
General Southmaide’s, had, since leaving Princeton, 
made New York his home. And while he had not 
seen his old friend since their college days, the one 
returning South to engage in his chosen profession, 
the other locating in New York, a somewhat desultory 
correspondence had kept alive the interest each felt 
in the affairs of the other. Some time, however, had 
elapsed since a letter had passed between them, and 
it was with genuine pleasure that Baldwin received 
word from his old chum enlisting his interest in the 
clever young woman who presented herself at his 
office one morning. Mrs. Baldwin, not alone in 
keeping with her husband’s wishes but for her own 
amusement, would have enjoyed “ lionizing ” this new 


A FIERY SWORD. 


197 


Star that had arisen upon her firmament; but genius 
does not yield readily to patronage, and she soon found 
the young woman had no intention of being annexed 
to the train of satellites for social favor who frequent- 
ed her elegant mansion; and that Fidelia’s ideas of 
seeing New York were quite different to her own. 

Neither could Mrs. Baldwin “ quite understand 
Mrs. Griscom’s preferring to live in one of those dread- 
ful boarding-houses to accepting the hospitality of a 
luxurious home. It is so plebeian ! ” she announced 
to her husband. “ Now if she would only come here 
and stop with us,” insisted the gentle Theodosia, one 
mofning when they were discussing Mrs. Griscom’s 
chances in the dramatic world, at the breakfast table, 
“ it would have so much more weight with the man- 
agers.” 

“ I do not fancy, my dear,” replied Archibald Clav- 
ering Baldwin, “ that the eclat of a Fifth Avenue es- 
tablishment would outbalance a lack of brains with 
any manager looking for a play that will make a hit. 
It might with the press agent, but she has not yet 
reached that stage.” 

“ The modern Justice has no mask over her eyes,” 
retorted the gentle Theodosia, “ and I have yet to 
learn that a manager is less human than a press 
agent.” 

But in spite of Mrs. Archibald Clavering Bald- 
win’s remonstrances, Fidelia continued to see New 
York after her own fashion. She enjoyed spending 
an evening with them at the play; and never failed to 


A FIERY SWORD. 


198 

accept an invitation to a concert; and was deeply sen- 
sible of their kindness when asked to share their box 
at the opera; but she found the lectures given at Co- 
lumbia College and Cooper Union more to her lik- 
ing. 

All her life she had heard various rumors of the 
“ awful Bowery,” and she very courageously walked 
its length one day, surprised at not having had her 
pocket picked, or her purse snatched from her hand, 
and yet more surprised at the fact that with perhaps 
some little difference in their dress and manner, its 
frequenters looked just as peaceable as those she met 
along Broadway — there was not the style of Fifth 
Avenue, nor yet was there the element of ruffianism 
she had anticipated. 

She spent much of her time in the reading-rooms 
of the Astor and Lenox Libraries, and knew all of 
the Art Galleries worth visiting. On fine days she 
mounted to the top of the Fifth Avenue stage and 
made her way to the Art Museum in Central Park. 
She loved to linger before any picture that pleased 
her, and loved to imagine herself as a living, breath- 
ing character in the phase of life portrayed by the ar- 
tist. Sometimes, in her fertile imagination, it was 
she who stood in the small, low-ceilinged Dutch liv- 
ing-room, — its walls hung with innumerable pots and 
pans and decorated with the shining pewter mugs 
and blue delft so dear to the artist’s eye, — beside the 
deal table on which burned a tallow dip, listening 
proudly while a soldier lover entertained the old fath- 


A FIERY SWORD. 199 

er and mother with tales of chivalry and daring ex- 
ploit in foreign lands. 

One picture particularly enthralled her senses: 
that of a lonely Egyptian woman sitting at twilight 
by the low, flat banks of the Nile, with her question- 
ing, far-seeing eyes turned toward a dull, red sunset. 
The artist’s perspective sense had brought out the 
warm, clear atmosphere of the East so well, she felt 
that her eyes traversed miles and miles of the low, 
flat country to the evening sky; forgetful that the dis- 
tance was perspective, the warm red glow burning 
dimly through the blueish atmosphere, only a bit of 
canvas skillfully touched up with carmine. But it 
was the lonely, pathetic figure that appealed to her 
most. The soul seemed to burn through the mourn- 
ful eyes with unspeakable longing towards that west- 
ern country whose open portals meant Freedom and 
whose watchword was Progression for her sex. 

This sort of thing in art appealed to her. Made 
more singular the fact that she never seemed able 
to take part in the aimless, frivolous life of les grandes 
dames who laughingly sung snatches of chansons, trail- 
ing their white gowns over the green lawns, coquet- 
ting beside cupid fountains that shot up their silvery 
waters in the “ Jardins des Versailles,” so well pictured 
by the lover of French life and art. She could un- 
derstand the world-sorrow in the eyes of the Madonna; 
the agony of repentance in those of the Magdalen, 
but the light that gleamed from the laughing face and 
soulless eyes of the young cocotte in Les Amours” re 


200 


A FIERY SWORD. 


vealed only the vampire in possession of the beautiful 
face and voluptuous form of the woman. 

But much as she loved this idle life which permit- 
ted her to gratify so many long conceived wishes; 
much as she loved to browse amongst books and pic- 
tures, feeling that the time thus spent was richly re- 
warded by the knowledge she derived from such aux- 
iliaries to culture and education, — things heretofore 
denied her, — such pleasure had its drawback. Gil- 
bert’s letters grew more and more impatient in tone. 
He could not understand why she spoke so indefinite- 
ly of returning home and, man-like, stated very de- 
cidedly that “ he could have seen every Manager in 
New York city in one-half the time she had been 
away.” Then, too, the weeks when she must pay 
her board seemed to roll around with marvelous rapid- 
ity. The sum of money which she had deemed more 
than sufficient to defray her expenses was dwindling 
away more surely than slowly. Each day she count- 
ed up her expenditures, small though they were, with 
much the same feeling of Balzac’s hero in “ Le Peau de 
Chagrin.'^ 

Her friends at home seemed to expect so much 
of her: the tenor of their letters was, to say the least, 
disheartening. Even Gordon Allerton, who under- 
stood the circumstances better than any one else, 
seemed woefully ignorant of the modus operandi neces- 
sary to the disposal of her work; and he would have 
derided his own advice upon the subject had he but 
known the difficulties involved. But none of them 


A FIERY SWORD. 


201 


could appreciate the strain upon her nerves. Nor 
could they understand the alternate feeling of hope 
and discouragement that lurked for her in every man- 
ager’s office — the beginning and end of every inter- 
view. Nor how exasperating it was to trudge weary 
blocks to save carfares, as she was now obliged to do, 
and after repeated visits to ascertain its success to be 
told that owing to a rush of business and accumulated 
manuscripts it had not yet been looked over; to have 
it returned with no comment whatever, as was often 
the case; or with the thinly veiled courtesy, equally 
disheartening, “ that it was not just what they were 
looking for.” 

The strain of it all, together with Gilbert’s im- 
patience at her long absence, was beginning to tell 
upon her. Sometimes she felt that she would almost 
rather die than to return home an “ acknowledged 
failure.” 

The bitter disappointment — the humiliation of the 
thing! She could never outlive it! The sympa- 
thetic phrases of her friends, — when they knew, — 
masquing their contempt, was a thought beyond hu- 
man endurance! 

One day when her hopes had become an attenuat- 
ed thread which even the semblance of clinging 
threatened to break, she took the train down to Rocka- 
way. 

All of Mrs. Griscom’s life had been spent in inland 
towns. She had never had a glimpse of the sea and 
she left the train eagerly, barely noticing the low, 


202 


A FIERY SWORD. 


dilapidated wooden shanties, the weather-beaten board- 
paved streets. In the distance was the roar and surge 
of the waves as the sea hurled itself in upon the 
white sands and broke away. A greenish-white and 
foaming wall which borrowed the sheen of the sun 
and the sapphire of the heavens. As she made her 
way across the tiny strip of land to the beach, she had 
a sense of delight in the soft sinking of the sand, 
white as driven snow, beneath her feet. 

The first sight of the ocean threw her into an 
ecstasy of delight, but the awe of this great body of 
water that stretched away, away, further from the land 
than the eye could reach, grew upon her. The low, 
ceaseless chant of its lullaby throbbing slowly, — 
rhythmically, in and out upon the shore was crooning 
music in her cars; the tense strain upon her nerves 
slackened, while her rapturous, excited mood of the 
moment became one of dreamy exaltation. 

She threw herself down upon the sands, silvery with 
the sunlight upon them, and sat sifting the white grains 
through her fingers as she gazed dreamily out upon a 
little boat whose white, faintly swelling sails fluttered 
idly homeward across the blue waters. Her heart 
filled with adoration to the Infinite Giver of the Beau- 
tiful as she raised her eyes to the great banks of sun- 
lit, tumbling white clouds that towered like snow- 
mountains. The restless ebb and flow of the tide 
fascinated her; the dull roar of the breakers was mar- 
tial music in her ears; child-like she watched the tide 
creeping nearer and nearer, and said to herself “ when 


A FIERY SWORD. 


203 


it reaches my feet, then I will go.” She felt her soul 
throbbing to its immensity, and her mind accustomed 
to wandering beyond the garden of Reality travelled 
far beyond the dark blue of the horizon into the 
realms of Imagination, where it so loved to dwell. 
The horrors of the sea, tales of its cruelty, its treach- 
ery, found no resting place in a mind so attuned to 
the artistic, the beautiful in life; and in fancy she lay 
upon the warm blue waters, reflecting bluer skies, 
drifting beyond the border-land of Imagination into 
Unthinkableness. 

Two men, in fishers’ garb, rough looking and car- 
rying a basket between them, eyed her with open sus- 
picion as they passed near. 

“ Something wrong here. Bill,” said one to his 
companion, tapping his head significantly. 

And then they both laughed coarsely. 

The sound of laughter so near was the first note 
that jarred rudely upon her reverie. Until now she 
had scarcely observed the few passers-by, or taken 
note of the questioning, impudent look upon most 
of their faces. That it was an unusual occurrence 
to see a woman whose dress and manner betokened 
a refinement not in keeping with her being there alone 
upon the beach, at this season of the year, had never 
dawned upon her; nor did she dream that there was 
anything suspicious looking about her sitting there 
for so long a time apparently oblivious to all sight 
and sound. She looked about her, her eyes follow- 
ing the men, and as one of them turned and looked 


204 


A FIERY SWORD. 


back at her with an impudent leer upon his face, the 
sounds of his laughter reaching her ears with a de- 
risive, discordant note, she realized at once that not 
only was her being there unconventional, but that she 
was alone and unprotected, and with a feeling of fear 
she arose from the ground and hurriedly made her 
way to the station. 

The depression that had weighed upon her spirits 
for so many days seemed after this silent communion 
of the soul with the Infinite, manifested through the 
sight of the great ocean, to have in an incomprehensi- 
ble way lifted itself from her mind. An indescribable 
change of feeling came over her. She could not ac- 
count for this sudden uplifting of her heart — the re- 
newed strength of hope! She went back to the city 
with a feeling of light-heartedness. The loneliness, 
the feeling of homesickness, the discouragements of 
the past few days had all vanished into nothingness. 
The future looked more rosy and the confidence of 
success seemed to have breathed anew into her ever 
sanguine mind; and something of the same feeling of 
enthusiasm pervaded her being as in those first days 
of her arrival, — none of the lethargy, the weary wait- 
ing on managers had come to her then. “ The sea- 
breezes had blown all the cobwebs from her brain,” 
she laughingly told Miss Banks, on her return home, 
to whom she had gone with much of her disappoint- 
ment in not being able to dispose of her play. 

That evening she found herself taking an animated 
interest in the conversation of her fellow-boarders, to 


A FIERY SWORD. 


205 


whom her change of manner was noticeable. She 
described with enthusiasm her visit to Rockaway that 
afternoon — her first glimpse of the sea in all her life- 
time. There was a dash of the waves in her conver- 
sation, and her face that had lately grown utterly col- 
orless save the vividly scarlet of her lips, now glowed 
from contact with the salt breezes as well as with 
animation and a renewed interest in life as she talked. 
A few blasCy cynical ones listening to her sprightly 
conversation shrugged their shoulders with grim in- 
difference, but all joined in the laughter when the wag 
of the house said in answer to her wish that she could 
stay there in the summer-time and lie dreaming for 
hours on the sands, “ that her illusions would be rude- 
ly shattered by the hustling, screeching crowds who 
danced on the shore and scrambled about in the wa- 
ter to the musical accompaniment of merry-go-rounds, 
hurdy-gurdies, and peanut vendors. Take my ad- 
vice, Mrs. Griscom,” he insisted dryly, “ and rent a 
room in the city large enough to spread a tent, cover 
the floor with sand, tack up a few cheap prints, a 
thunder-storm and a shipwreck or two. Get one 
of those ninety-eight-cent portable washstands with 
a bowl and pitcher the size of these,” holding up a 
cup and saucer. “ Then, with ‘ painted ships upon 
a painted ocean’, a smoking lamp to bear you com- 
pany in the evening, you will have all the pleasure 
and comforts of the seashore without the noise and 
confusion of the great-unwashed who haunt the 
beaches near the city. There may be places where you 


206 


A FIERY SWORD. 


can enjoy the sea, but you must go further away 
than Rockaway or Coney Island to find them.” 

The evening mail brought Mrs. Griscom a note 
from Archibald Clavering Baldwin, the contents of 
which seemed in keeping with the problem already 
solved by her sub-conscious mind that afternoon. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


207 


CHAPTER XVIL 

*‘Yet where an equal poise of hope and fear 
Does arbitrate the event, my nature is 
That I incline to hope rather than fear.” 

Archibald Clavering Baldwin’s note outlined a 
plan of his own concerning Mrs. Griscom’s play, 
which if acceptable to her might possibly prove of 
mutual benefit and ended by requesting her to call 
at his office the following day. 

Promptly at the appointed hour, Fidelia was ush- 
ered into his private office; her eyes sparkling and 
her cheeks glowing. Baldwin came forward to greet 
her, noticing the change in her expression since he 
had last seen her; — then, her complexion was dull and 
whitish and her eyes lacked their usual lustre, now 
she was buoyant with hope and radiant after her long 
walk in the frosty morning air. She was simply 
dressed, her gown and hat were inexpensive, but there 
was a touch of fur and a knot of yellow lace in the 
small becoming toque, while a bunch of violets that 
she could not resist buying, mentally assigning their 
cost to the credit of several carfares, was pinned to 
her closely fitting jacket which outlined the grace- 
ful curves of her slender figure. 


2o8 


A FIERY SWORD. 


Baldwin bent low over her hand and bowed her 
to a seat, into which she sank gracefully and with 
an utter lack of self-consciousness, as she said, “ I 
hope that I am not late — I walked down — I pride 
myself on keeping my engagements punctually.” 

“Not at all, madam, not at all!” Baldwin assur- 
ed her, — and with a smile, “ I wish all ladies under- 
stood the value of promptness, — ” “ My wife thinks 
her plain,” Baldwin thought, — “ she’s a deuced pret- 
ty little woman,” was his own opinion. 

Fidelia smiled, appreciating the delicately implied 
compliment. 

She listened while he unfolded an idea that had 
been germinating for several days; and which, much 
to her gratification, proved unquestionably his belief 
in the merits of her play. She had brought the man- 
uscript with her and they spent the morning in dis- 
cussing it. She briefly outlined the acts, laying stress 
upon each climax and giving her own ideas of the 
scenery. Baldwin listened and became more and 
more convinced of the possibilities of such a drama. 
But being more of a business man than an enthusiast, 
he suggested their first submitting the manuscript 
to a professional, who would, if convinced of its fu- 
ture, collaborate with them in bringing it before the 
public. His intention was to form a company and 
finance the afifair until it was on its feet. 

Mrs. Griscom had no hesitation in accepting his 
offer. She had learned through experience and bit- 
ter disappointment that it was one thing to write out 


A FIERY SWORD. 


209 


the plot, describe the characters, suggest situations 
and climaxes, and another thing to make it practical 
for immediate presentation. Then, too, as they both 
considered it best to wait until after Christmas to 
bring it out, this gave her an opportunity of return- 
ing home for the holidays. And since it was deem- 
ed advisable for her to be present at the rehearsals 
she could return to New York the beginning of the 
year. 

Fidelia’s manner of thanking Baldwin for coming 
to her aid at the last moment, — “ just when she had 
almost lost faith in its possibilities herself,” was so 
charming, and her gratitude so overwhelmingly ex- 
pressed, that his short, robust figure gained added 
height and his massive chest swelled with pride as he 
arose to accompany her to the elevator. 

“ It was a speculation — hazardous, no doubt, but 
pshaw ! ” — he thought, “ it was a pleasure to further the 
interests of such a deserving little woman, especially 
when her eyes were luminous with gratitude. Then 
besides,” he quite believed, “ he would turn a few 
thousands in the transaction himself, since he usually 
came out on the right side of his investments.” 

He was extremely sorry she declined his invita- 
tion to luncheon; and, knowing that Theodosia held 
her in high regard, he extended an invitation in her 
name to dine with them en famille the next evening; 
trusting to luck that his wife would have no other en- 
gagements. 


210 


A FIERY SWORD. 


‘‘ This is indeed an unexpected pleasure,” exclaim- 
ed Mrs. Archibald Clavering Baldwin, rising from 
the divan, where she had thrown herself for a few 
minutes rest amongst its cushions, as the maid an- 
nounced Mrs. Griscom and silently withdrew. 

Fidelia glanced at the covers of the book she had 
lain face-downward to preserve her place, saw that 
it was one of the latest novels, and said, apologetically: 
“ I fear I have come a little early? — but — ” 

“ Not at all, I am delighted — ” 

“ I must plead my desire to have a little talk with 
you, alone, as my excuse for coming in advance of 
the ceremonious time of arrival for dinner — ” 

“ Do not apologize, my dear; ” begged Mrs. Bald- 
win, kissing her prettily on both cheeks. “ It was 
not a ceremonious invitation. Besides, I was just 
wondering whether you had gone home without say- 
ing goodbye to us ! ” 

“You surely would not believe me so lacking in 
gratitude — to say nothing of good taste,” replied Fi- 
delia, warmly, with a quick, graceful apology for her 
long delayed visit. “ You know, of course, of Mr. 
Baldwin’s generous offer?” holding both of Theodo- 
sia’s hands in her own with friendly tightness, the 
brightness of her eyes suffused for the instant. 

“ Yes, yes, — ” murmured Mrs. Baldwin, hastily. 
“ Not much to be grateful for as yet, — wait! Not 
but what I have great faith in Archibald’s judgment,” 
she averred. “ And in the play — but I do not want 
to see you disappointed!” she hastened to explain. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


2II 


“ Well, in any case, my hopes could not ebb lower 
than they have done lately! ” said Fidelia gratefully. 

The sympathetic pressure of Theodosia’s hand 
drew from her the story of her recent worries and ex- 
periences. Heretofore, she had been too proud to 
confide her trials to this woman of wealth and leisure 
for fear of being misunderstood, or of having her re- 
cital misconstrued as importunate of favor; surround- 
ing herself at such times as they met with a barrier 
of reserve difficult for the other to penetrate. 

Theodosia Baldwin, while not a great many years 
older than Fidelia, had seen much more of the world. 
Possessing all the charm and grace of manner that 
travel, culture and a life of refined ease gives a woman 
born with a desire to please, and gently bred. To 
most people her manner was frivolous and superficial 
and it was seldom that she allowed the light airiness 
assumed for fashionable society to reveal the depth of 
her spiritual nature or mental attainments. This 
manner, which had become a second nature, prevent- 
ed Fidelia, in their short acquaintance, from piercing 
the mask of superficiality with which she ever sur- 
rounded herself. 

In fact, after the first few times of their meeting, 
Mrs. Baldwin hardly interested herself further than 
to inquire casually after Fidelia’s success when they 
met; content with asking her to drive, to the theatre 
or to her home occasionally, to please her husband, 
who wished her to show Mrs. Griscom some little 
attention for his old friend’s — ^the General’s sake. 


212 


A FIERY SWORD. 


After some little conversation, with a pretty air 
of patronage which Fidelia had wisely discerned was 
a natural accompaniment to her light, airy manner, 
Mrs. Baldwin bade her follow to her room while 
she put herself in the hands of her maid to make ready 
for dinner. 

The small dressing-room which they entered, with 
its wealth of dainty furnishings, its air of luxurious 
femininity, its pink tinted walls and satiny hangings, 
the white and gold ceiling across which little golden- 
haired cherubs trailed wreathes of roses, the open 
door to a smaller room revealing a luxurious mar- 
ble bath, was a revelation to Fidelia and she scarcely 
repressed a cry of admiration. This perfection of 
detail, of feminine elaboration — all the dainty acces- 
sories and feminine trifles which women adore and 
wealth alone permits — was so in contrast to her own 
simple bedroom, even surpassing anything she had 
ever dreamed of. 

This intimacy of admission into Theodosia’s pri- 
vate apartment broke down all reserve of manner on 
their part; and they talked on intimately and unre- 
servedly, like dear friends, as women will when they 
take a sudden and unaccountable liking to each other, 
the one overcoming her diffidence and allowing her 
pride to thaw beneath the other’s genial warmth of feel- 
ing and appreciation. 

“ When do you return South? ” 

Theodosia inquired as they made their way to the 
drawing-room to await Mr. Baldwin. 


A FIERY SWORD. 2I3 

“ I thought of leaving on Saturday,” responded 
Fidelia, as they seated themselves. 

“ Can you not postpone your going until Sunday? 
There is something on at the Club, and I would like 
so much to have you go with me.” 

Fidelia paused a moment, irresolutely, before re- 
plying. She had not yet written to announce her 
arrival home and might just as well take her departure 
on Sunday — but then she bethought herself of her 
wardrobe. As a general thing, the question of dress 
did not trouble her much, but when she thought of 
the fashionable set to which her hostess belonged, 
she felt almost ready to decline the invitation on any 
pretext whatever. 

“ I wish I had known sooner — ” she began — 

“ It is my day to entertain the members,” went on 
Mrs. Baldwin brightly, — and I believe there are some 
very interesting discussions on for that afternoon.” 

This news almost decided her. Looking at Mrs. 
Baldwin, she said frankly, with a flush of color and 
a little embarrassed laugh: 

“ I haven’t a thing to wear! ” 

“ Oh, anything will do ; it is not to be a grand 
affair — just our usual informal Saturday “ After- 
noons;” exclaimed Theodosia with her queenly little 
air of patronage. There will be no men to speak 
of — not that I believe in dressing for them,” she add- 
ed with fine scorn. “ Occasionally one drifts in, 
clinging to some woman who tows him up to the 
tea-table much as she would lead a horse to water. 


214 


A FIERY SWORD. 


and looking just about as much out of place as the pro- 
verbial bull in a china shop, as he threads his way 
through the crush. It is at such times — ” laughing — 
“ I fancy that a man feels himself less of a ‘ lord of 
creation ^ and more the superiority of the disdained 
weaker sex. It pleases me to see how humbly they 
comport themselves under such circumstances.” 

And they both laughed merrily. 

“What’s that; — what’s that — ?” inquired Archi- 
bald Clavering Baldwin, as he entered the room. 
“ Let a mouse make its appearance on the scene and 
see how quickly the deposed ‘ lord of creation ’ be- 
comes a Saint George to tackle the Dragon ! ” 

“ Your inference, my dear Archibald, is an ex- 
ploded myth — a libel upon our sex!” rejoined Mrs. 
Baldwin airily; “ besides,” still laughing, “ some wom- 
en are more afraid of a man than a mouse.” 

“ Most of them hide their fears very successfully, 
then!” sniffed Baldwin, with scathing sarcasm. 
“ What do you think about it, Mrs. Griscom? ” 

There was a humorous twinkle of light in Fidelia’s 
eyes as she answered: 

“ I think it is an affectation in both cases.” 
“Jove! But you are right!” exclaimed Bald- 
win with much gratification. “ As for the four-foot- 
ed Terror, I have noticed that it is usually the charm- 
ingly pretty woman who seizes the opportunity to 
display — ” he paused a moment — “ what is that French 
word, Theodosia? ” 

“ Lingerie? ” suggested Mrs. Baldwin. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


215 


Yes; and her well-turned ankles — ” 

‘‘Oh, fie! Archibald;” interrupted Mrs. Baldwin, 
“ if you were a younger man you would not talk so. 
I am inclined — ” 

“ It is because I have been young that I know 
whereof I speak, my dear. And as for the self-avow- 
ed man-hater; — poor self-deluded creature! she is the 
victim of sour grapes — the blighted flower in the field 
of humanity, overlooked by man in his haste to cull a 
more perfect blossom ! ” 

And he bowed with mock-courtliness, as his eyes 
enfolded Mrs. Griscom’s trim figure with an approv- 
ing glance. 

The butler’s announcement of dinner was met with 
Mrs. Baldwin’s laughing comment: “ I think it 

time ! ” And she led the way to the dining-room. 

The table was perfect in all its appointments. The 
gleaming silver, the lights and the profusion of flow- 
ers, arranged with a simplicity that is the perfection 
of art; the meal prepared by a chef who lacked noth- 
ing short of perfection and served by a well-trained 
butler was a feast of culinary excellence. A delight 
to the inner and outer senses of man. 

Mr. Baldwin enjoyed dispensing his hospitality in 
the good old-fashioned southern way; frequently do- 
ing the carving himself. Although not to be con- 
sidered a gourmet he enjoyed a good meal, lingering 
over a glass of rare vintage with all the delight of a 
connoisseur, leaving the table on good terms with 
himself and the world at large. 


2i6 


A FIERY SWORD. 


The trio spent an agreeable evening. 

Fidelia could at any time, without undue exertion, 
make herself an entertaining companion. And un- 
der the vivifying influence of hope renewed and the 
elation of success, charmed both Mr. and Mrs. Bald- 
win with her witchery of manner. Her gratitude to 
them for the part they had taken in this transforma- 
tion of her feelings was so evident, while there was 
an indescribable air of deference in her manner to- 
wards Mrs. Baldwin that pleased the gentle Theodo- 
sia immensely. Then, too, she understood and en- 
joyed Mr. Baldwin’s jokes so well, so that, laughing 
always at just the right point, that gentleman rubbed 
his fat hands together with unfeigned pleasure and 
felt years younger as he scanned the dusty shelves of 
his memory for incidents of his college days to re- 
late to so appreciative a listener. Fidelia never be- 
traying by so much as the movement of an eyelash 
when she recognized some well-worn platitude as 
self-appropriated. 

And as he drove home with her later in the even- 
ing he assured her he had not passed so agreeable an 
evening in his own drawing-room for many months, 
and as he assisted her from the carriage did not re- 
sist giving the hand she placed in his a slight pressure 
of appreciation, and, perhaps, with a trifle more 
warmth than the mere goodnight called for. 

Mrs. Griscom had heard so much of the “Woman’s 
Club for Social and Industrial Improvement” that 


A FIERY SWORD. 21/ 

she looked forward to attending its meetings with 
eager interest. 

The buzz and chatter subsided as the Chair brought 
down her gavel with a determined stroke. 

“ Let us have done with frivolous personalities, 
ladies? There are weightier matters for the Club’s 
consideration, this afternoon.” 

Fidelia listened as the subject of discussion was 
announced. It being one that had always been par- 
ticularly interesting to her; The right of women in 
the onward strides of civilization to share the field 
of labor on an equal remunerative basis with man. 

She quite coincided with the general belief that 
“ women are their own worst enemies ; and that since 
their right into the arena of life’s industrial struggle 
was no longer an unquestionable one, why should 
they belittle themselves and cheapen their qualifica- 
tions by accepting less wages than would be paid to 
a man for the same work? ” 

“ It was right that all should work who wished 
to!” 

“ But those who do should see to it that in their 
competition with their less fortunate sisters they do 
not lower the standard of wages, or create conditions 
involving hardships and injustice to those dependent 
entirely on their own efforts and earnings!” 

“Y^s! We should remember that United We 
Stand, Divided We Fall!” 

Many and unique were the ideas and suggestions 
advanced. 


2I8 


A FIERY SWORD. 


“ Educate, Educate, Educate I ” 

“ It is education that has brought woman to her 
present high plane of life. It is the higher education 
of woman that has opened up every avenue of em- 
ployment so long controlled by man.” 

“ It is the efforts now made to train girls syste- 
matically for domestic duties that will eventually solve 
the problematic rights of mistress and maid ! ” 

There was further discussion upon this idea, and 
many were the reasons for and against overmuch 
education of “ domestics.” 

Afterwards there was a general exodus towards 
the tea-table, and the cup that cheers, but does not 
inebriate, was much in demand. 

Fidelia had been introduced to many of those 
present, women prominent in all the walks of life, 
and while someone else engaged Mrs. Baldwin’s at- 
tention as the hostess on this occasion, or she paused 
to exchange civilities with a few who were “ no- 
bodies,” as she afterward explained, “ or I would have 
introduced you,” she amused herself with glancing 
at the various prints and portraits that adorned the 
walls, dead and gone women who were “ some- 
bodies.” 

“ Fancy turning to the dead for amusement? ” 
laughed Mrs. Baldwin on finding Fidelia thus en- 
gaged, “ When so many of the living crowd the 
rooms? ” 

It was true. The room lived and breathed with 
feminine celebrities. Fidelia laughingly told her 


A FIERY SWORD. 


219 


hostess “ she had never been thrown amongst so many 
at one time in her life before. The sensation was 
quite overpowering.” 

Floating sentences reached her where she stood 
before a full-length picture of “ Martha Washington,” 
whose sweet, serious face seemed contemplative of 
the mental and political freedom accorded to women 
since the time when she had shared the Chair of State 
with the “ Father of our Country.” 

Fidelia wondered if she could but step down from 
her golden frame to mingle with the throng about 
her what share she would claim in the emancipation 
of her sex? 

It seemed to her that everyone there but herself 
had accomplished something in the world’s work. 

“ I ! I ! ” 

Echoed all over the room. 

“ I have just finished a little story for ‘ Smart 
Set,’ ” some one remarked at her side. 

“ — I have been working night and day on a new 
play-” 

“ Oh, yes! — Do come and see it! I shall in- 
vite all — to a Studio Tea soon. — send it to the 
Academy next Spring.” 

And then in answer to a question, someone else 
exclaimed : 

“ Long — ago! I mailed the MS. to the publisher 

last week.” 

“ I ! I ! ! I ! ! ” 

The Ego. That insignificant little word of but 


220 


A FIERY SWORD. 


one letter — but yet the greatest of all personal pro- 
nouns — fairly shrieked itself hoarse in its endeavor 
to make known its accomplishments. 

“ Surely,” Fidelia thought sadly, every one here 
except myself has done something worthy of renown. 
Will my efforts be in vain?” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


221 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

*‘Home is the resort 

Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where 
Supporting and supported, polished friends 
And dear relations mingle into bliss.” 

Mr. Griscom had, been standing in the station for 
some time, awaiting eagerly and impatiently the ar- 
rival of the train, already some half-hour late. He 
took his wife in his arms and kissed her as she de- 
scended to the platform, a trim figure in brown travel- 
ing dress. On the way home they talked eagerly 
and excitedly of all that had happened during her 
absence. Fidelia relating briefly the manner in 
which she had disposed of her play. Both were 
so happy and so excited and there was so much to 
tell, the cab drew up before their gate before they 
had realized the distance. 

The rattling of wheels brought Dinah hurriedly 
to the door! her face aglow with pleasure at seeing 
her mistress again. 

“ We’se moughty glad to see you back, Miss De- 
lie! ” she exclaimed joyously as she shook hands with 
her mistress in a hearty, demonstrative way. “ Marse 
Bertie an' me, we done looked fo' you an' looked 
fo' you, — moughty — long — time since ! ” 


222 


A FIERY SWORD. 


And she bustled in and out the dining room get- 
ting the meal ready. 

“ Oh, Delie ! It is so good to have you back ! ” 
said Gilbert as he folded his wife in his arms, kissing 
her again and again. A hectic flush of excitement, 
showing vivid crimson beneath his eyes, which were 
luminous in their brilliancy. 

“ You are thinner, darling — ! ” clasping his hands 
about her waist. “ You look tired; ” his affectionate 
solicitude noted critically every change of expression 
on her face. 

Fidelia acknowledged to a slight feeling of weari- 
ness. 

“ But it is nothing that a night’s rest will not re- 
pair;” she added, carelessly. Throwing herself into 
a deep-seated chair near the fire, her eyes wandered 
around the room. 

She loved all its old shabbiness as much as ever; 
but, somehow, the furnishings seemed to have shrunk 
into insignificance as she remembered the elegance 
of the Baldwin mansion. It even lost in comparison 
with the shabby, faded rooms and massive, antique 
furniture at Miss Banks’ ; and as her eyes fell upon 
the crudely fashioned “ whatnot ” she made up her 
mind “that monstrosity should be removed!” But 
surely her own plain white-washed walls were bet- 
ter than the great, sprawling, ugly pattern of wall-pa- 
per which she had found so irritating in her room at 
Miss Banks’ . 


A FIERY SWORD. 223 

** But, pshaw ! ^ Comparisons are odious ; ” she 
thought serenely. 

There were some things she loved about the old 
room — the old-fashioned shuck-bottom chair, with its 
gay cushion of patch-work squares, the flaming scar- 
let bow tied gracefully through its rounds. And 
the home-made rug at her feet — into which she had 
long ago woven so many of her hopes and ambitions. 

“ After all ; it was good to be home again ! ” 

Sitting before that warm open fire was a pleasure 
which had been denied her even in the luxurious 
home of the Archibald Clavering Baldwins; and she 
stretched out her hands to shield her face from the 
heat sent out by the red mass of coals glowing in the 
open grate. Never would steam-heat and radiators 
replace the open fire in her affection. 

Fancy trying to weave pictures with one’s feet 
propped up against a steam-pipe to keep them warm ! 

As her eyes rested lovingly upon each separate 
object, she noted the orderly arrangement of her books 
upon their shelves and the stiffness of the chairs and 
furniture, smiling appreciatively at this evidence of 
Dinah’s painstaking nature to keep the house prim 
during her mistress’s absence. 

As she sat thus, supremely content to be at home 
again, comfortably toasting her small slippered feet 
before the fire, she and Gilbert rambled on idly — dis- 
connectedly — passing hurriedly from one subje(:t to 
another. 

“ When had he seen the Allertons? And how 


224 


A FIERY SWORD. 


long since Mayme and her father had been to see him 
— and had they all looked after him well during her 
absence? And how was the General — was he still 
as much in love with dear little Mayme as ever? ” 

Thus they rambled from one subject to another; 
keeping up an animated, excited flow of small talk; 
while Gilbert, his eyes bright and his whole manner 
expressive of happiness, ever and anon caressing her 
hand which he held within his own as they sat side 
by side, or tenderly and lovingly stroking the 
waving masses of her hair that had swung itself 
loose about her shoulders, told her of his evenings 
at the club, and of all the new music they were prac- 
ticing. Fidelia described more fully than her let- 
ters had permitted, the friendly reception accorded 
her by the Archibald Clavering Baldwins — ^their 
numerous kind attentions and entertainment; dilating 
hopefully upon their improved prospects if all went 
well with the play. 

They talked on in this eager, rambling sort of 
way, oblivious to the hour, both laughing happily 
over the fact of their not having taken note of the 
time until the musical tones of the little clock re- 
minded them that the evening had passed. 

The next day, however, time did not pass so quick- 
ly. Fidelia wandered through the house re-arrang- 
ing the furniture and ornaments of the rooms ; Dinah 
followed her about, remonstrating with her mistress 
for “ bemeaning herse’f with sich drudgery,” and 
showing by her numerous questions that she took a 


A FIERY SWORD. 225 

respectful, familiar interest in her mistress’s exper- 
iences in New York. 

At last she was alone in her sitting room. She 
replaced her books, reading a bit here and there — as 
she changed them about on their shelves. This done 
she seated herself at her desk and wrote a few let- 
ters ; her eyes frequently seeking the clock on the man- 
tel-piece. Presently she arose and going into the 
parlor she went over to the window, parted the cur- 
tains and looked down the street; restlessness, expec- 
tancy and disappointment all pictured on her face, as 
she turned away and seated herself at the piano. She 
struck a few simple chords, turned over some new 
sheet music of Gilbert’s that was scattered loosely 
about, gathered it up, arranged it with precision and 
dropped it into the music rack; but all this with the 
preoccupied air of one whose thoughts were other- 
wise engaged. Then she went back to the sitting 
room and threw herself lazily down into the depths 
cf a great cushioned chair, staring alternately from 
the bed of coals to the clock above; its tick, tack, 
tick, tack, went on unceasing, but the time seemed 
to drag with unusual slowness. As it approached 
the hour when she knew Allerton would be passing 
on his way home, her cheeks flamed up and there wa.s 
a little thrill of excitement through her veins, her 
heart beating quicker with the unconscious and sup- 
pressed excitement. 

“ After all, — why not? ” her fingers nervously beat- 
ing a rat-a-ta-tat upon the arm of the chair. “ He 


226 


A FIERY SWORD. 


Will be the one most glad to know of my success — 
and best entitled to hear it from my own lips first. 
Where’s the objection — ? ” 

Seized again with uncontrollable restlessness, she 
returned to the front parlor and seated herself be- 
hind the curtains, awaiting the moment when she 
would give the old-time signal upon the window-pane, 
knowing with what glad surprise he would turn, won- 
dering if his ears had deceived him; and then the 
flash of delight and recognition when she would draw 
the curtains aside and reveal herself! 

Gordon Allerton passing shortly afterwards heard 
the clear ringing tap-tap upon the glass and turned; 
scarcely accrediting the vision to his eyes, as the lace 
curtains were drawn aside and Fidelia; smiling half- 
mischievously, beckoned him within. He retreated 
a step or two and entered the gate; it had hardly 
closed behind him before Mrs. Griscom threw the 
door open and greeted him, laughing joyously at the 
amazed look upon his face. 

“Now who is surprised?” she asked, her brown 
eyes flashing mischievously up at him, with pardon- 
able coquetry. 

Allerton looked, and as he saw her standing there 
in the doorway, so girlishly-elated, forgetful of every- 
thing, and before she could resist, he put both arms 
around her and kissed her. 

His ardour recalled her to herself again. 

“ He still loved her as deeply as ever! — there was 
no doubt about that— r,” and while she felt an irresisti- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


227 


ble longing to rest a moment within his arms, she 
realized that it was a dangerous game to play, so 
gently withdrawing herself from his clasp, they entered 
the room. 

“ You little brown witch! ” Allerton exclaimed, as 
he playfully pushed her into the depths of a great 
chair. “There — ! sit there until I determine wheth- 
er I am awake or dreaming! — ” standing back a pace 
or two nearer the fire he clasped his hands behind 
his back and eyed her with mock-severity. “ When 
did you come — ? ” he querried, excitedly — “ and why 
did you not write me — ? ” 

“ Because, — please sir, — I wanted to take you by 
surprise, sir; ” she answered, glancing up at him with 
a demure smile, which he found almost irresistible. 

He paused a moment in which to collect himself. 

“ Well you have succeeded; ” he answered, briefly. 

And they both laughed as they recalled their last 
meeting on the train, when he had taken her so by 
surprise. 

“ But tell me — the play? Have you sold it? ” 
he inquired, eagerly. 

“Yes; — no!” replied Fidelia, slowly. “I have 
done both, or I have done neither.” 

Preserving her countenance as she noticed his 
growing curiosity. She felt that she would like to 
tease him a little to settle up that old score made 
against her on the train; and the puzzled look with 
which he received her enigmatical answer as he stood 


228 


A FIERY SWORD. 


warming himself before the fire, amused her im- 
mensely. 

But no man likes to be made fun of, however much 
he may enjoy a joke at another’s expense, and a hurt 
look crept into his eyes as he stood there silently and 
with some dignity of manner, awaiting her explana- 
tion of this negative affirmation to his question. 

Fidelia glanced up at him quickly, surprised at 
his sudden change of manner, and hastened to say, 
persuasively and with much earnestness: 

“ Forgive such girl-like foolishness, — flippancy of 
manner, Gordon; — I am elated over my future pros- 
pects! It is as I said — sold, and yet not sold. I 
have made it over to Mr. Baldwin, retaining a half- 
interest, besides a considerable sum as a bonus of 
his good faith; — he agrees to put it on the road at 
his own expense; and I am to return to New York 
to superintend the rehearsals.” 

'‘How soon are you to return?” asked Allerton 
with interest as he seated himself in a big chair oppo- 
site her. 

“ After Christmas ; ” she went on enthusiastically — 
briefly sketching out her plans for the future, so ex- 
citedly and with so much enthusiasm that he found it 
in his heart to forgive her seeming eagerness to be oflf 
again. 

This news delighted and disquieted him at the 
same time. “ Was he to lose her again so soon? ” 

“ I knew you would be delighted,” she exclaimed, 
— “who else has so encouraged me?” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


229 


‘‘ So I am; ” he said, quietly; “ but this Baldwin — 
what sort of a man is he? Are you sure he will do 
all he says?” 

Fidelia looked at him with unfathomable eyes; a 
questioning frown as to his meaning flashed across 
her brow. It had never occurred to her to doubt 
Archibald Clavering Baldwin's honesty of intentions, 
and she could not understand Allerton’s suspicion. 

“Why, — certainly!” she answered warmly, — “he 
is a friend of General Southmaide's; ” she added, with 
the implied conviction that that fact alone should be 
convincing. 

Allerton sat quietly looking at her meanwhile, con- 
scious of observing her slender, graceful figure, with 
its yet girlish slimness of waist, and the rounding 
curves of its outlines, her mobile face alive with emo- 
tion, and found himself wondering whether Baldwin 
had not observed her attractiveness as well; a keen 
pang of jealousy clutching his heart. But he dis- 
missed the thought as unworthy of himself and her, 
and replied: 

“ Forgive me,” very humbly, “ that of itself should 
be a sufficient guarantee, I know; — it was only my 
deep interest that provoked the question;” dropping 
his eyes to veil the passionate longing in their depths; 
fired to a determination to bar such unworthy thoughts 
for the future, as he saw with what frankly open eyes 
she received his explanation. 

“ Such interest is worthy, my Fidus Achates” she 


A FIERY SWORD. 


230 

murmured, “ I should be hurt were it lacking. And 
to think 1 owe all my success to you! ” she exclaimed, 
gratefully. 

Thus, seemingly without effort, restoring their re- 
lationship to the plane of master and pupil, sweeping 
away in her frankly expressed gratitude any senti- 
mentality that might cling about it. 

He accepted her fiat, not without regret, and ad- 
mired her all the more for her strength of character. 
He knew that she loved him; that it was no easy task 
for her to maintain this footing of familiar friendship 
was evident from her occasional yielding to the dic- 
tates of her heart when off guard. But he did not 
know that this task strained her faculties almost to 
breaking point, and that when she appeared most 
calm and composed her heart beat wildest. 

He also found it an easier task to adhere to his 
high resolves and strict sense of duty when beyond 
the intoxication of her presence — but now! — with her 
again, after their long separation, beneath the witch- 
ery of those eyes, the vividly scarlet lips that smiled 
at him so temptingly— honor was another thing! He 
was ready to fling it to the winds; to have given his 
heart’s blood for a moment of yielding on the part of 
this woman who could sit there and so coolly keep 
him in check by surrounding herself with an air 
of innocence and gratitude. He looked at her in 
wonder, and forgot himself and his suffering in his 
amazement. What manner of woman was this? 


A FIERY SWORD. 23I 

.Was she human? Surely no flesh and blood creature 
could act thus? 

And as Fidelia talked on happily and hopefully 
of the future, her aspirations and ambitions shining 
through every word she uttered, he found himself 
wondering if she had not really used him as a bridge 
from poverty to success; and once having successfully 
crossed over, whether she would, as many others have 
done, burn her bridges behind her? “ She would 
not be the first woman to do it! ” he told himself — 

“ And to think I owe it all to you — to your persis- 
tent encouragement in the past I ” she broke off to say ; 
her words acting like a dash of cold water upon the 
fire that surged in his veins. 

There were tears in her voice and a depth of grat- 
itude unmistakable, and such implied confidence and 
truth shown from her eyes, that he was constrained 
to believe that he had wronged her in his thoughts, 
and that she was really sincere in her expressions; 
and better still, he felt that there was that in the open 
glance of her eyes as they caught his own that reach- 
ed the nobility inherent within him and restored him 
to reason. He was quick to realize that he had mis- 
judged her and generous enough to reproach him- 
self for his baseness. A minute ago he had been 
ready to believe her a woman without heart — only 
moved by ambition and love of fame! 

“You deserve it all and more; my dear Fidelia, 
while I who know so much of your early struggles. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


232 

am proud to feel that I have had a hand in your ad- 
vancement. I congratulate you heartily and sincere- 
ly!” he exclaimed — “Now I must go;” and rising, 
he took the smiling, upturned face, between his hands, 
and touched his lips with a tender reverence to her 
forehead. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


233 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“If there’s a hole in a’ your coats, 

I rede ye tent it; 

A chiel’s amang you taking notes. 

And, faith, he’ll prent it.” 

“O Fancy if thou flyest, come back anon, 

Thy fluttering wings are soft as love’s first word, 

And fragrant as the feathers of that bird, 

Which feeds upon the budded cinnamon.” 

The next few days were full of pleasurable excite- 
ment. 

The daily “ Times,” which had heretofore taken 
but little note of Mrs. Griscom’s efforts, had, with their 
usual rapidity of acquiring news — through the good 
offices of friends, officious or otherwise — announced 
the news of her return from the East in a lengthy 
personal, which was, indeed, a short sketch of her 
general life; — whether the facts stated were real or 
evolved from the over-fertile imagination of a re- 
porter mattered not — paying an over-rated tribute to 
her past and eulogizing her as the successful play- 
wright of the future. 

Mayme was among the first visitors after Mrs. 
Griscom's return. She had learned of her success 


234 


A FIERY SWORD. 


from her father; for almost his first words on reach- 
ing home the previous evening had been: 

“Well, Fidelia has disposed of her play at last!” 

Mayme gave a little shriek of delight when she 
heard this : “ Oh, I am so glad I so glad 1 ” And jump- 

ing up in her joyous exuberance, she seized her 
father about the waist, and — as he was always sub- 
jective to this flambuoyant expression of her youthful 
spirits, — together they made several revolutions about 
the library, until, rubicund and glowing, he dropped 
into an easy-chair, while Mayme perched herself on 
his knee and imperiously demanded to know more. 

Breathless with this unexpected exertion, he cried : 
“ You little — I ” shaking his head for want of breath 
to finish his remark. “ Wh — ^what — do you think I 
am, — a dancing Dervish — ? or a windmill, which?” 
and laughing and panting he gasped out between 
breaths : “ Give — the — old man a chance ! ” 

“ The first two are impossibilities 1 ” laughed 
Mayme; “ and I refuse to admit your last assertion; ” 
saucily pinching his cheek. “ The very idea of my 
father being old; you are not to think of such a thing, 
sir I ” 

Pleased that she denied his claims to old age, he 
replied, however, with an assumed severity of coun- 
tenance. 

“ Well, it is high time that you acquired the dig- 
nity of your one score and one. Miss! ” 

When Mayme heard of Fidelia’s arrival she was 
eager to be off to see her the self-same evening; but 


A FIERY SWORD. 235 

distance and good sense prevailing, she impatiently 
awaited the next morning. 

Her cheeks were glowing and her eyes sparkling 
when Mrs. Griscom opened the door, to her quick, 
imperious ringing of the bell. 

“Oh! you lucky, lucky — I” she exclaimed, and 
without finishing her sentence, she threw her arms 
about Fidelia and swayed her round and round, kiss- 
ing her repeatedly. 

“There, you dear little cousin! do leave a shred 
of my attire ! ” she implored, as the button of Mayme’s 
heavy winter jacket fastened in the lace jabot of her 
morning gown, demolishing its arrangement. In- 
fused with Mayme’s good humor, she laughingly un- 
clasped the hands about her neck and bade her re- 
move her wraps. 

“Oh, yes; I intend to;” said Mayme. “I have 
come to spend the day! ” 

And together, with hands clasped, school-girl fash- 
ion about each other’s waist, they went away to Fi- 
delia’s room to lay aside her outdoor garments. 

Mayme was so eager for all the details of her trip 
that Dinah called them to luncheon long before her 
curiosity concerning New York was half-appeased. 
Her questions were so numerous and her glance so 
appealing in its wide-eyed, frank belief, that, although, 
eager to satisfy the demands made upon her, Fidelia 
felt herself an arrant hypocrite in accepting credit 
for a knowledge of affairs which she herself knew 
to be but superficial. 


236 A FIERY SWORD. 

Afterwards as they stood before the sitting room 
fire. Fidelia announced that having selfishly spent the 
morning in discussing her own affairs, now that lun- 
cheon was over, and there was no further chance of 
interruption, “ she was dying to hear something of 
Mayme’s.” 

“Oh, I haven’t much to tell;” protested Mayme 
with assumed profound gravity of expression, drop- 
ping her lids before Fidelia’s searching glance. 

“ Come, come ! That will never do ! ” playfully 
insisted Fidelia, having previously taken note of the 
gleaming solitaire upon Mayme’s third finger. She 
waited a minute and then half-mirthfully, half-tenderly, 
said: “Well, little cousin, what is it?” raising 

Mayme’s hand for a closer look at the ring, “ not a 
present from papa, I know! There is some secret 
behind those veiled eyes? ” searching the sweet, win- 
some face that drooped beneath its halo of golden 
hair. 

Mayme hesitated, blushing a rosy-red, and then, 
drawn by the tender sympathy and good will of her 
cousin, with demure expression and downcast eyes, 
she poured forth her confidence. From having been 
pent up so long the news of her engagement to Gen- 
eral Southmaide and her own pure love and tender 
feeling towards him came forth with a torrent of hope 
and gladness to receive the sincere congratulations 
she knew would be forthcoming. 

For a moment following this demure confession 
neither of them spoke. A flood of bitter-sweet mem- 



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A FIERY SWORD. 


237 


ories of her own youth and girlhood crowded into 
Fidelia’s mind, and it was with softening, tear-dim- 
med eyes, radiantly glad with the other’s happiness, 
that she turned her glance and met the eager, almost 
childish hope of approval in the face raised to hers. 

“You dear little soul!” she said tenderly, folding 
her in her arms and kissing her again and again. 
“You know how much I love you; and you must 
know without my putting it into words, that there 
is no limit to my wishes for your future happiness. 
And,” with a tender caress of her hand upon the 
other’s bowed head, “ I am convinced you have chos- 
en both wisely and well.” 

At these words of affectionate approval, spoken 
with almost motherly tenderness, Mayme raised her 
head with a newer sense of dignity, and with radiant, 
love-lighted eyes, said eagerly and earnestly: 

“ I knew you would be I you dear, dearest — sis- 
ter!” 

And now that the secret was out Mayme com- 
fortably seated herself on the opposite side of the 
hearth and, as the afternoon waned, discussed with 
more ease and growing dignity her plans for the 
future. The days were now so short since winter 
had fallen and the time passed so rapidly during this 
agreeable occupation, that she was almost sorry when 
her father drove up and announced his intention of 
carrying her home. 

“ Oh, I knew there was something I wanted to 
tell you badly ; ” exclaimed Mayme at parting, — “ the 


A FIERY SWORD. 


238 

' Reverend ’ Gideon Carr, has at last gone to China 
to convert the Mandarins! — left two weeks ago.” 

“ I am not surprised at such a step, since he failed 
so utterly to convert a certain young lady nearer 
home to his way of thinking! ” laughingly replied Fi- 
delia. 

“ I will tell you more about that later!” laughed 
Maynie, as they drove away. 

Within the next few days so many of Fidelia’s 
friends who had learned of her “ splendid luck,” 
through the “ Times,” called, some out of mere curios- 
ity, ’twas true, all with seeming sincerity — to pay their 
respects to this latest of Fortune’s favorites, and to of- 
fer their hearty congratulations, that Mrs. Griscom 
was forced to hold a continuous levee; and it was 
in vain that she protested that her success was only 
assumed, not assured, and that it all depended upon 
the appreciation of a fickle public. 

Still this little breath of adultation wafted from a 
few admiring friends was pleasing, though to give 
her due credit she hardly knew whether she felt 
most glad for herself, for Bertie, or for Allerton. 

All three seemed so irrevocably bound together. 

The peculiar repulsion she seemed to feel towards 
Gilbert, as her husband, when in his presence, com- 
pletely revulsed itself in his absence and became ma- 
ternal in its phase. And in this half maternal, half- 
wifely solicitude, she delighted herself with making 
plans for his future welfare and comfort. But when his 
feverish lips sought hers in passionate love and ad- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


239 


miration this mood of eagerness and enthusiasm chill- 
ed — was supplanted by a mood of indifference. The 
tender, maternal feeling fled from her heart, leaving 
her overcome with disgust and remorse — disgust for 
herself and him, that he should force upon her caress- 
es from which she shrank, and remorse that she could 
not yield the meed of affection his loving nature and 
tender heart craved and — yes, deserved ! “ Why 
was it that she had nothing to offer in return for this 
dog-like devotion but a pretense — ? — a hollow pre- 
tense at that! 

Perhaps, had she known, when, as a girl, she so 
gladly accepted his proffered love and home, that they 
would grow so far apart in common interests she 
would have elected to remain a slave to the farm-life 
and dish-washing that was the bane of her early 
years. 

Yet there is no affinity between Youth and Ex- 
perience; and the difference in their ages will ever 
prevent them from travelling hand in hand as boon 
companions. 

Besides, if it is true, as some claim, that what is to 
be, will be, then what is the use of fighting against 
Fate! 

This she believed and thus she reasoned, as she 
sat alone one afternoon. She had drawn a big chair 
near the fire, and sat here for some time, half-awake, 
half-dreaming, recalling her life from the time when 
as a child she sat in her little attic bedroom, her small 
body shivering with the cold she was mentally un- 


240 A FIERY SWORD. 

conscious of, as she pored over some intensely inter- 
esting book obtained perhaps by stealth from the 
green, baize covered bookcase in the front room 
downstairs and smuggled up to her room through 
fear of being chided for her wastefulness in burning 
the candle to such an hour of the night — “ a time 
when she should be in bed and asleep instead of fill- 
ing her mind with nonsensical fancies which would 
prevent her doing her tasks the next day,” — or loaned 
her by some kind-hearted neighbor who, while won- 
dering at the child’s taste for such literature, yet sym- 
pathized with the child-hunger for knowledge. 

Even now as she lounged half-dozing and dream- 
ing in the deep, comfortable, old “ sleepy hollow,” 
her thoughts winged backward to days that were 
stern realities, days that had left a lasting impression 
upon her child-mind. In fancy she could hear as 
clearly as then her mother’s shrill voice across the 
stretch of Time, calling her in tones that cut like a 
sabre through the half-dawn which filled the room, 
disturbing the delicious morning dreams of the little 
sleeper, who with only a vague consciousness of be- 
ing called, moved uneasily on her pillow and sank 
once more into the divinely soft arms of the Slumber- 
God who wooed the child so tenderly. Again she 
seemed to hear her calling: 

“Dee — lee! Delie! are you awake?” and then 
struggling from out her dreams as the tones grew 
more peremptory — she realized it was her mother’s 


A FIERY SWORD. 24I 

voice ascending to the upper regions of the house: 
“Delie — come down quick and mind baby!” 

And the young limbs that seemed always to ache 
would drag themselves wearily from beneath the 
warm covering that was so enticing, sleepy-eyed, and 
but half-awake, she would grope her way through 
the chill, gray-dawn, down the carpetless stairs into 
the half-lighted, cheerless, cold bedroom, where she 
would sit rocking the wooden cradle to and fro, back 
and forth; now succumbing to the drowsy claims of 
unsatisfied sleep; now arousing herself to give the 
cradle another tilt, as the young occupant made its 
demands for attention known by a feeble wail. Much 
as she loved the tiny, puny creature for whose sake 
she had been aroused, and of whom her riotous imagi- 
nation had made a brotherly hero who would when 
older take her part against the world, her feeling of 
grief over its premature death was, although too young 
to credit its source, somewhat compensated by the 
additional length of time allowed her morning slum- 
bers. 

As she grew older, and* her father increased his 
farm holdings, her labor increased proportionately 
with that of every other woman in the household; 
and from early morn, it was “ Delie here and Delie 
there; Delie feed the chicks; Delie do this, and Delie 
do that ; ” through the long days. How many times 
in her more youthful days did she fancy herself poor, 
wearied, much abused little Cinderella, as she trudged 
the weary treadmill which seemed to have begun 


242 A FIERY SWORD. 

with her first recollections; and when her little feet 
grew tired and the brain wearied with so many com- 
mands she longed for night again and the rest that 
seemed so long in coming. But somehow as she 
climbed the stairs to her own small room beneath the 
eaves, this was all left behind. And, sometimes, as 
she knelt beside the open casement, weaving fancies, 
the stars became the little angel-brother’s eyes smil- 
ing in upon her as she arose, and snatching the cover- 
lid from the bed and fastening it about her shoulders, 
became Cinderella awaiting her carriage to the ball; 
while the tall tree nodding and bowing its branches 
outside her window became the Prince to whom she 
courtesied as he offered his arm for the dance 

Ah, those happy, childish dreams! 

The years flew by; and, then, the real prince came 
and released her from the enforced drudgery, offer- 
ing her a home of her own wherein she should reign 
as mistress. How gladly she bade farewell to the 
old life of wearisome, unrewarded toil and entered 
the new home; almost too young to give a thought 
to the new cares and responsibilities which awaited 
her. She soon discovered, however, that while her 
prince was able to love and admire her, he was ut- 
terly unable to share in any of her dreams of great- 
ness. At every turn of the road life became more 
complex, more real; requiring courage and strength 
to meet its disappointments. But, always, at its 
most critical moment, just when it seemed the last 


A FIERY SWORD. 243 

breath of hope was expiring, Fate had played her 
trump card and saved the game. 

And as she reviewed her life, it seemed that just 
when she was ready to succumb to an existence of 
material needs and mental starvation, after struggling 
along unaided and without sympathy for years; just 
when she was ready to lose hope of ever accomplishing 
anything. Fate had again intervened and introduced 
Gordon Allerton as her savior. As she thought, of 
Allerton and all that his companionship and help had 
been to her, her face softened and its tense drawn 
lines relaxed. The memory of the past few months 
was like the cooling draught to a parched tongue and 
throat. All the intellectual cravings of her soul had 
been satisfied in the years she had known him; but in 
her progression there had developed other needs that 
this help and companionship could not give. Aller- 
ton could and had assisted her in the building of her 
life’s work, but had proved powerless in helping her 
to launch it upon the great sea of the public — and 
here again had Fate shown that she still held the win- 
ning hand in the game called Life by producing Arch- 
ibald Clavering Baldwin. 

And it seemed that almost from the beginning 
as she had climbed the rungs of Life’s ladder, some 
helping hand was stretched out at each difficult mount 
to save her from falling back in hopeless despair. 
And so it had been when Baldwin came to her rescue 
in the disposal of her play, she had grasped this last 
friendly hand much as a drowning man clings to a 


244 


A FIERY SWORD. 


Straw — but the heights to which his help would lead 
her were hidden by the white mists that shroud the 
untravelled regions of the Unknown. 

Dinah’s entrance with the tea-tray, and her excla- 
mation of despair over the dying embers within the 
grate, recalled her from her slumbering, half-dream- 
ing state. 

“ Well, I do declar’ Miss Delie, if youse ain’ let 
dat fi’e clean die out! ” 

She set the tray down with a reproachful look, 
and with a gesture of despair over such recklessness 
of attention on the part of her mistress left the room 
mumbling to herself as she returned to the kitchen 
for a fresh scuttle of coal: “I does wonder what 
Miss Delie got to think about so earnestfully? ’tain^ 
right;” shaking her head seriously, “’tain’ right; she 
sho will mek herse’f sick with worrimentiveness.” 

The words in Dinah’s vocabulary were never long 
enough to express her meaning, so she added pre- 
fixes and affixes at will. 

“ I reckons she hab done obsarved Marse Ber- 
tie’s shrinkage mo’ and mo’ ebery day of he life; his 
po’ face sho’ do git small an smaller, an’ he cheeks 
looks white an’ whiter; ceptin’ sometimes;” she 
thought hopefully; — “ po’ Marse Bertie! an’ Miss De- 
lie gwme to leave home agin! Well, it’s not fo’ a po’ 
edificated nigger like me’s place to judgify; but if 
she only knows how the lonesomeness of her absense 
affec’ Marse Bertie’s sperits when she go away she 


A FIERY SWORD. 


245 


oughter stay home. I cain’t see whar’ the barrels o’ 
money’s gwine to help him or dese litterwary expira- 
tions gwine to lead to — as fo’ Dinah, dis po’ ole nigger 
jis’ wants ’nuf to berry herse’f wif when she die — Po’ 
Marse Bertie!” and she brushed a tear from her 
faithful old eyes as she went back to the sitting room 
to replenish the fire. 

Fidelia gulped down her cup of tea hastily and 
went upstairs to her room — she felt as though a long 
walk would do her good. She had sat too long 
dreaming over the fire, — putting on her hat and a 
warm, heavy wrap, — she must get out and stretch 
her limbs, and walk, walk! 

She set off at a rapid gait. The dull, grey-skies 
presaged snow. How delightful if they could have 
a snowfall for Christmas! But no snow would fall 
until the wind laid. And as she pushed on in the 
teeth of the storm, the blast clutching at her in its 
fury, she felt, as always when facing the battle, a 
desire to conquer; and as the fierce spirit of the wind 
entered her spirit she fled along, longing to scream, 
to shriek with it in unison. 

“ It is glorious to conquer! ” she shouted in her 
excitement, as she sped along the open fields and 
across to the rocks that commanded the river. 

She had thought when she started out that she 
would drop in and see Mrs. Allerton, but this fight 
with the elements left her no desire to enter that 
lady’s gate when she reached it, nor any wish to 
exchange this exciting, exhilarating state of mind for 


246 A FIERY SWORD. 

the ordinary commonplaces of that good woman’s 
society. Nor did she see as she passed by the house 
a small, wistful face pressed close against the win- 
dow-pane. 

She hurried on to the Bluffs; climbing out to a 
flat rock that jutted out far above the water, — “ Lov- 
ers’ leap,” so the legend runs — she looked far down 
into the roaring, seething waters with joy and satis- 
faction written all over her face, as she tore off her 
hat and flung back her head to the wind, turning her- 
self about that she might feel the blast on every side 
of her. 

“ It is grand, glorious, — magnificent! ” raising her 
voice the louder as the wind tore at her hair, loosen- 
ing it, tearing its strands in this direction and that, 
until it was impossible to keep it confined with pins. 
She gathered up its masses and twisted them into a 
tight rope-like coil about her head, and fastened on 
her small hat more securely. As she turned to go, 
her ears caught the sound of falling rocks and one 
long, thin, high shriek that differed from the rushing, 
swirling, shrieking of the blasts that played so wildly 
about her. Turning hastily in the direction from 
whence came that distressed human-cry, her eyes just 
caught the glimpse of a small figure as it disappeared 
from sight. For one brief second everything swayed 
blackly about her. And, then, as another plaintive 
wail, followed by a succession of shrieks reached her, 
she hurried across the rocks, and letting herself over 
carefully, she reached the child’s side. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


247 


‘^—Donald! ” 

“Donald!” she shrieked, breathless with all the 
terror of what might have happened crowding in upon 
her mind, as she recognized the little fellow, with the 
blood streaming from a cut across his face. She 
gathered him up in her arms convulsively. 

“I saw you, — and — I wanted to go — too!” said 
the little chap bravely gulping back his sobs. “ — But 
you won’t tell Muvver? ” he pleaded. 

The note of fear in his heart, so pathetically evi- 
dent in this appeal, touched Fidelia to the quick as 
she carefully dried the blood from the scared, white 
little face searching her own. Reassuring him she 
gathered him closer to her heart with pity as she ob- 
served the growing fears of parental reproof for his 
wilfulness. She soon discovered that he was more 
frightened than hurt, his foot having slipped as he 
essayed to reach the rock on which she had been 
standing; thankful for this she did not feel it in her 
heart to chide the child for having followed her. Hold- 
ing the little hand in hers, they stood some moments 
looking down at the river, the wind lashing at them 
from all sides. 

“ I love a storm, like this one; ” said Donald after 
a time, when his breast had ceased heaving with sup- 
pressed sobs and fear; “ — I shall fight all the boys 
when I go to school ! ” 

Fidelia smiled down at him indulgently. 

Already the elements had infused him with the 
desire to conquer. She recognized in this speech 


A FIERY SWORD. 


248 

the blending temperaments of father and mother; the 
aggressiveness of the one, and the fearlessness of the 
other. But there seemed no opening vista through 
which her vivid imagination could peer into this child’s 
future. She could not fancy him such a man as his 
father; and yet, standing as he did, on its very thresh- 
old, all the possibilities of a full life awaited him. 
Somehow, an unnameable fear filled her heart — a 
dread that he would not have even a fighting chance 
in life, and a cold presence seemed to cast its shadow 
about him, as though forbidding interference with its 
claims. 

She shivered with the cold. 

“ Come, little Donald McDonald, we must hurry 
home! Your mamma will be uneasy about you.” 

“ Oh, that is where you were 1 ” said Mrs. Aller- 
ton as both entered the gate, where she had been 
standing looking up and down the street. “ I was 
juist for sending Marjorie out to look for you,” she 
continued, eyeing Donald with a severe countenance. 

‘‘ What happened ye? ” as she noticed the thin red 
line across his forehead. 

Donald shrank in towards Mrs. Griscom, while 
she explained how he came by the cut. 

“Ye muckle tawpie!” cried his mother, relapsing 
as she usually did when excited into her mother- 
tongue. “ Now what a face ye will hae to gang the 
kirk with the mom;” and after satisfying herself 
that the cut was nothing very serious she pushed him 


A FIERY SWORD. 249 

off with Marjorie to have his face washed before 
“ your faither sees ye.” 

“ But will ye no come ben the hoose, Mrs. Gris- 
com? It’s gey blawy. I should hae thocht the 
wind on the rocks would hae carried ye both awa’ ! ” 
she exclaimed politely and with much concern. 

Fidelia thanked her, declining on account of the 
lateness of the hour, and having put in a plea that 
she would not further scold Master Donald for hav- 
ing followed her, hurried along home. Darkness 
was closing in rapidly and the wind abating, there 
was every chance of a snowfall. 

Gordon Allerton thought he recognized the quick, 
graceful strides of the woman approaching him, and 
thought, as Mrs. Griscom came within the circle of 
light shed by the street-lamp, that it was an “ un- 
usual thirg to meet her there at this time of night.” 
His face blanched as Fidelia narrated in short, hurried 
sentences her adventure on the Bluffs, and how Mas- 
ter Donald had, in watching for his father, recog- 
nized her when she passed the house and followed 
her out on the Rocks. 

This boy was the idol of his heart. It was the 
realization of all he, as a father, owed to him, that 
had hitherto kept him morally in check. Was he 
about to let go of himself, let him but think of Don- 
ald, of Donald’s claims upon him, and of Donald’s 
future, and the child’s name seemed sufficient to draw 
him back to duty and the claims of his family. Re- 
alizing the narrow escape his boy had had, he crush- 


250 


A F I E R Y SWORD. 


ed her hand with gratitude; and in his concern for 
his heart’s-idol, Mrs. Griscom felt intuitively that he 
was glad that she refused his courteous offer to see 
her to her own home. 

The next day dawned in a cold, half-drizzle, half- 
sleet, which Mrs. Allerton was inclined to call a 
Scotch-mist,” but as there was no sign of its clear- 
ing, “ since she could not discern enough ‘ blue in 
the sky to make a Hielan-mon a pair o’ breeks,’ ” she 
bade Margie and Donald, who had a long narrow- 
strip of court-plaster reaching from one eye across 
his nose, to seat themselves quietly in the window, 
and repeat their Sunday-school lessons to each other, 
after which performance of duty, if they were good, 
they would be allowed to look at the pictures in “ Pil- 
grims’ Progress.” 

Mrs. Allerton’s notions of keeping the Sabbath 
were strict ones, and when that day dawned all evi- 
dences of Mammon and Unrighteousness must be shut 
away. Sunday newspapers were ever an abomina- 
tion to her righteous soul, and if Mr. Allerton insist- 
ed on having them delivered at the house, she most 
strenuously insisted on his retiring to the privacy of 
his own room to read them, and not be corrupting 
the morals of they bairns by his bad example.” Long 
years ago she had informed her husband of her views 
on this subject; and she never forgave this direct 
contradiction of what she termed a father’s duty to 
his family. Her ideas of the proper reverence due 
to her God could not tolerate this open contempt of 


A FIERY SWORD. 2^1 

propriety, this open contempt of a Christian’s duty, 
to himself, his home and family. 

And as the newspapers were conspicuous by their 
absence on Sunday, so was Baxter’s “ Saints’ Rest ” 
and Harvey’s “ Meditations ” conspicuously brought 
forth on this holy day. This had been so in her 
mother’s home and she lived up to the good example. 
All the week, these holy men quietly reposed with 
Bunyan behind the locked doors of the bookcase, 
but the last thing before retiring on Saturday night 
she gave the front parlor a “ redding up,” eliminat- 
ing all distracting elements from its Sunday atmos- 
phere, before bringing out these good books for the 
pious regalement of her family. And no matter 
whether the day was fair or foul, a pall of gloom set- 
tled over the Allerton household with the approach of 
the Lord’s Day. 

Mrs. Allerton’s stern devotion to principle, her 
religious enthusiasm and the spirit of dogmatism that 
kept her true to the covenants of the “ auld Establish- 
ed Kirk,” held her to the tenets of her forbears. 
To go about on the Sabbath day with a cheerful, 
worldly countenance was, in her opinion, treating the 
Lord’s commands with a worldly levity of spirit quite 
unforgivable. And for this reason she would in- 
stantly check any exhibition of mirth or undue ex- 
uberance of youthful spirits that crept to the surface 
or manifested itself in her children. Should either 
so far forget themselves as to whistle a tune, or to 
hum a bar other than some sacred hymn upon this 


252 


A FIERY SWORD. 


day, they would quickly be recalled to its proper ob- 
servance by her sharp “ whist, dinna forget the Sab- 
bath? ” 

A solemn march to church and back was, she 
considered, “ sufficient relaxation and recreation for 
any one on a braw Sabbath.” Afterwards when the 
midday meal was over she sat with Bible in hand or 
read short “ Meditations ” aloud to the “ Bairns.” 
She was strict in her views of bringing up her chil- 
dren in the way they should go, and felt that if after- 
wards they should depart therefrom, the failure could 
not be laid at her Moor. She deplored the laxity 
of her husband’s views on the subject, and that he 
should be so remiss in all things pertaining to her 
ideas of a father’s duty to his offspring was a cross 
heavy to endure; consoling herself, however, with the 
thought “ that it was from the mother the child im- 
bibed its religion, anyway.” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


253 


CHAPTER XX. 

“At Christmas play, and make good cheer, 

For Christmas comes but once a year.” 

I do believe we are going to have snow for 
Christmas, Cousin Fidelia!” 

And Mayme joyfully clapped her hands together 
in keen anticipation of so rare an event, drawing up 
her shoulders with a little shiver of cold as they closed 
the great door behind them and stood outside on the 
wide piazza. 

It was a wintry scene that greeted them. The 
brownish-crimson chrysanthemums, some of them 
raising bedraggled looking heads above their limp, 
shrivelled leaves and blackened stalks, as if ashamed 
to defy the elements — the only bit of color in all the 
grayish scene about them. The clouds hung low 
about the earth, intensifying by their propinquity the 
clearness of the gray light that was fast becoming 
darkness. 

Mr. and Mrs. Griscom had, as always in past 
years, been invited to spend their Christmas with 
Mayme and her hospitable father. Mayme had driv- 
en in for Fidelia earlier in the day and Gilbert was 
to follow later in the evening. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


254 

They had found the house warm; too warm, in 
fact; coal fires were blazing in every room, with the 
exception of the long low-ceilinged library; here a 
huge pineknot blazed and crackled beneath a hickory 
log that broke out spasmodically into tiny flames 
at the ends. The interior of the house had from time 
to time been modernized. The ceilings raised ; the 
wide fire-places filled in with ornamental tiles and 
hung with the more modern grates. But the library 
had preserved all its old charms of antiquity — and 
here the flaring pineknot or log burned, throughout 
the winter, and it was Aunt Chloey’s duty to see that 
the tall, brass andirons were kept burnished and shin- 
ing — and with its high wainscoting, the broad frame 
settings of its wide, heavy doors and deep, low set 
windows, remained an artistic study in old woodwork. 

This was essentially the home room. The room 
the family used morning, noon and night. Colonel 
Stanwood had sat here since dinner time dallying 
with his paper, good-naturedly trying to read and as 
good-naturedly listening to Mayme and Fidelia’s plans 
for the morrow. When they left the room to get a 
breath of fresh air, he resumed his reading for a time, 
but the spirit of Christmas was in the air, stirring up 
his blood and awakening memories of other Christ- 
mas-tides when the young blood coursed more fiery 
through his veins. The paper fell to his side as he 
raised his hand and passed it through his whitening 
locks. The round, kindly blue eyes filled as thoughts 
of the past crowded in upon him. The old room with 


A FIERY SWORD. 


255 


the fire glowing and reddening into its distant cor- 
ners was alive, echoing with memories! Memories 
of boyhood and manhood; of girlhood and woman- 
hood. Of child’s laughter and woman’s tears; of 
boyish, unrestrained grief, and the deep, suppressed 
sobs of the man. It was here that he had taken 
farewell of his mother, unconscious that it was a 
last earthly farewell, and proudly shouldered his mus- 
ket in behalf of his country and to save the broad, 
sunny acres surrounding his home, peopled with 
slaves, faithful and beloved, from the ravages of war. 
It was here he had stood, fearful of her reception, 
with his Northern bride to receive the congratula- 
tions and good wishes of his friends and neighbors 
upon their homecoming. It was in this room that 
he had awaited through the long night to receive the 
news that had made of him, if such a thing were pos- 
sible, a more devoted husband and a proud father. 
It was here that Mayme had played about on the 
rug at his feet when a child ; or had burst impetuoiisly 
into the room to fling herself into his arms, sobbing 
out her grief upon his breast and pouring her child- 
ish woes into his ever sympathetic ears, regardless 
of the mild reproof of her gentle mother, who sat with 
her crewels and embroidery frame silent and wor- 
shipful of her lord and master, frowning that he should 
listen so patiently instead of rebuking the child’s petu- 
lance and display of temper. It was here that he 
and Mayme had knelt silently and alone beside their 
dead, his arms clasped about her, restraining his own 


A FIERY SWORD. 


256 

grief to comfort hers, his great heart convulsed with 
his own loss and that of his motherless girl’s. It 
was here only a few weeks ago that General South- 
maide had come, with Mayme clinging to his arm, 
blushingly, and radiant with happiness, to seek his 
forgiveness for having robbed him of his dearest 
earthly treasure. 

And in this room, with its half a century of memo- 
ries, Colonel Stanwood dreamed and loved to dream 
of the future, when as an old man he would sit hap- 
pily content, at peace with the world and his Maker, 
listening as the old room again echoed with child’s 
laughter, or again soothing the childish griefs of 
Mayme’s sunny-haired children. 

As the sounds of Mayme’s laughter, subdued by 
the distance, came faintly through the closed win- 
dows like the muffled silvery tones of a bell. Colonel 
Stanwood sat up, threw back his head and listened. 
Suddenly he found the atmosphere of the room too 
heated. He arose from his deep lounging-chair, 
shook off his drowsiness, and clapping his wide, black 
soft hat upon his head joined them on the piazza. 
He was not an old man and the attraction of youth 
was still potent. 

Fidelia glanced backward towards the Point that 
was obscured by the lowering, swirling black clouds 
overhanging Lookout, and then upward to the gray, 
dead skies, and agreed with Mayme, qualifying her 
remark by saying it had threatened snow for so 


A FIERY SWORD. 257 

long one could scarcely accept the portentious omens 
as truthful.” 

As her glance swept leftward and upward over 
the naked towering pines to the jagged, barren rocks 
and scarred cliffs that seamed the grand old moun- 
tain and but added ruggedness to its majestic gran- 
deur, she had but to close her eyes and the scene 
changed quickly into warm, blue skies, the boles and 
the bare, black limbs of the trees standing out so 
distinctly against the gray, nebulous background were 
once more wreathed and hidden with tender, green 
foliage. For a moment this mental phantasmagoria 
was so real she half expected to hear in the distance 
the birds’ song. 

Ah, how far away seemed that spring day, whose 
ending had brought to her the knowledge that had 
made her so supremely happy as a woman, and so 
supremely miserable as a wife! ” 

So much seemed crowded into her life since then! 

As she opened her eyes, Mayme intercepted her 
look keenly, almost interpreting its meaning. 

'' I know,” she said meaningly, — “ you are think- 
ing of the picnic, cousin Fidelia, and your poor sprain- 
ed wrist ! ” 

“Yes — ?” answered Fidelia, in an absentminded 
sort of way; then as if desirous of changing the sub- 
ject, said more quickly: “But look at the river! 
It is no longer a silver ribbon winding about a mocca- 
sin and flowing gently through the peaceful valley 


A FIERY SWORD. 


258 

and sunlit fields of green ; but a swollen, rushing, ruth- 
less torrent black and spreading! ” 

“ They have had heavy rains up State lately,” said 
Colonel Stanwood, as he approached the end of the 
veranda where they stood and from which they com- 
manded a full view of the Tennessee in the distance. 
“ If the wind rises you will have a fine day to-morrow, 
daughter.” 

“ Well, I hope it won’t! I don’t want a Hue day; 
I want a snowstorm ! ” pouted Mayme, saucily. 

“ I am afraid that is the one Christmas present 
beyond the old man’s power to procure for you,” he 
replied lovingly, smiling indulgently at her petulance. 

The Colonel taking an arm of each, the three 
promenaded up and down the long piazza until 
Mayme and Fidelia, with cheeks glowing and fingers 
tingling with the cold, protested they had had enough 
of it. 

“ Well, run along in then and warm yourselves,” 
suggested Colonel Stanwood. “ I am going out to 
the stables to give Rufus instructions about going for 
Bertie.” 

The front door bell rang out simultaneously with 
the tinkling of the supper bell through the house. 

Just in time, General,” sang out Colonel Stan- 
wood, in his jovial, hearty way, as he stepped out 
into the hall to welcome the new arrival. “We 
were just going in to supper; you will come with 
us?” 

They shook hands heartily. General South- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


259 


maide being relieved of his great coat and hat, greet- 
ed both ladies warmly, bowing low and with great 
deference over Mrs. Griscom’s hand, giving Mayme 
a surreptitious squeeze as he placed her arm upon 
his own, followed the Colonel and Mrs. Griscom into 
the dining room, acclaiming his ability to do justice 
to Aunt Chloey’s beaten biscuit. 

Mayme perched herself demurely at the foot of 
the table. Her savoir faire saved her at all times 
from embarrassment; but no matter how often Gen- 
eral Southmaide dined with them, she could never 
lose the consciousness of their future relations. At 
such times her youth and inexperience weighed upon 
her and she was wont to cover her confusion with 
an unnatural and exaggerated form of gayety; and 
all during the meal there was a false ring to her 
laughter and a nervous catching of her breath. 

But by the time her father had finished his pipe 
and the General laid down his cigar to join the ladies 
in the parlor she had recovered her equanimity and 
was once more the self-possessed but youthful hostess. 
Entering into their conversation with dignity and a 
power of comprehension, skillfully guiding them from 
one channel to another, that, to Fidelia who had been 
keenly alive to her conduct during supper, seemed 
marvelous. When the conversation flagged she arose 
at her father’s suggestion and seated herself at the 
piano; here she passed from a series of happy, laugh- 
ing darkey songs, into Mendelssohn — those tender, 
dreamy songs without words. From these she drift- 


26 o 


A FIERY SWORD. 


ed into Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, a favorite 
piece of hers when alone; — as the rippling chords 
melted from her fingers, the crunching of wheels on 
the gravelled driveway leading to the house pro- 
claimed Mr. Griscom’s arrival. 

They all left the room and went upon the piazza 
to greet this late comer, the General snatching up a 
light shawl from the hall-stand, envelloped Mayme 
in its pink, fleecy folds before going outside. The 
moon had burst forth from its gloomy pall, irradiating 
all beneath it, dispelling the clouds until they took 
the form of soft vapors shimmering in the heavens. 

Gilbert’s face in the chastened pallor of the moon- 
light became etherealized. His attenuated figure 
looked taller and spectral like. But the long drive 
had brought the color into his cheeks, which glowed 
crimson beneath the clear white skin; and when he 
entered the room all present congratulated him on 
his recovered health. During the long drive in the 
keenly cold air he had lost the fatigued expression 
now habitual with him, and the incipient ravages of 
disease were hidden under this deceptive transient 
expression of health. Under the excitement of the 
conversation and music, his big soft brown eyes, with 
their slight suggestion of melancholy, no longer seem- 
ed sunken fires, but were large and bright and spark- 
ling with healthy animation. These false signs of 
health, transitory and brief, made all the more notice- 
able, later in the evening, the pallor, the deepening 
of the tired lines and the cadaverous gravity of his 


A FIERY SWORD. 261 

face, causing Colonel Stanwood to order him off to 
bed forthwith for a much needed rest. 

Awaiting her opportunity Mayme quietly slipped 
out of the room and soon appeared again with a bas- 
ket of stockings, and amidst much merriment they 
were suspended in a dangling row across the wide 
fireplace in the library. The two men busying them- 
selves in drawing up suitable mottoes to be placed 
above them. Even with ripening years Mayme in- 
sisted on keeping up the old Christmas customs of 
her childhood days, looking forward to them with as 
much delight as when a child. There was much 
laughter when the Colonel selected a huge white 
placard with “ The Lord Loveth A Cheerful Giver ” 
done in conspicuously large black letters. Mayme 
choosing one with an equivocal meaning: “ Blessed 
Is He Who Expecteth Nothing.” 

“ It is too bad. General, that you are not represent- 
ed here ! ” laughingly vociferated Colonel Stanwood. 

“ I should have to have one made to order to hold 
the gift I want;” replied the General with a loving 
glance at Mayme’s rosy countenance. 

“Then, this one,” reading aloud the motto: “The 
Smaller the Parcel the More Precious the Gift,” would 
not suit you, went on the Colonel, unmindful of 
Mayme’s heightening color. 

“ I prefer a happy medium,” rejoined General 
Southmaide, no whit embarrassed. 

“ There is no ^ Spook-priestess ’ present, Gener- 


262 


A FIERY SWORD. 


al ; ” Spoke up Mayme hastily, more for the sake of 
covering her increasing confusion — 

“ No! but where there are beautiful women, there 
is always the high-priestess of Love; ” he replied, gal- 
lantly. 

The work of hanging the Christmas stockings 
over, General Southmaide bade goodnight to the 
ladies, promising to be on hand for the festivities of 
next day. After a mysterious, whispered conference 
with Colonel Stanwood in the hall, during which he 
entrusted a certain small precious parcel, — his tribute 
of the season, as well as a tribute to Mayme’s youth- 
ful desires, — to his care with numerous instructions 
and a lover-like embarrassment, he left the house. 

After the General’s departure the rest sought their 
rooms. Wondering how they would manage to steal 
back and deposit their gifts unseen. 

Having reached her, room, Fidelia donned a warm, 
white dressing gown and slippers; loosened the heavy 
coils of her hair, letting it fall in undulating masses 
about her shoulders, and seated herself to await a 
propitious moment for her return to the library. She 
took up a little golden heart from its case turning it 
about so the firelight caught the facets of the tiny 
diamond radiating from its centre, and wished she 
had been able to bring a more valuable gift from New 
York for “dear, generous, little Mayme!” Gilbert, 
worn out with the labors of the long day, was already 
deep in slumber, as she arose softly and lighted her 
candle. She left the room and stole silently and war- 


A FIERY SWORD. 2^3 

ly down the long hall; and as she descended the 
tairs she paused breathless at every creak of the 
)oards. As Fidelia softly and noiselessly opened 
he library door, she held her breath entranced at 
he living breathing Rembrandt scene taking place 
vithin the room. It was like parting a red velvet 
:urtain before a scene of the old Master’s. Mayme 
;tood poised on the broad persian rug at the hearth, 
ts rich coloring softened by the firelight. Behind 
ler dangled blackly the row of stockings, in assorted 
engths. The reddening embers brought out in bold 
relief the slender form in its clinging white robe. A 
little jet of flame revealed in its flickering light the 
intense earnestness of her occupation, as she stood 
there with puckering brow, one long stocking in her 
outstretched hand, while with the other she searched 
amongst the parcels, that lay on a small table beside 
her. Now and then a glowing coal would flare up, 
break away from the reddening mass, and send its 
flickering, fitful light far out beyond the crimson glow 
into the shadows that lay heavy in the far corners 
of the long room. Once at some sound she glanced 
up quickly and apprehensively towards the door. 
Loth to reveal herself and spoil the evident pleasure 
of this nocturnal occupation Fidelia fled to her room 
to await a better moment for the accomplishment of 
her purpose. 

The next morning Mayme was astir early. She 
hurried through the latticed passage to the kitchen, 
scarcely mindful of the fickleness of a Southern win- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


264 

ter, nor of the fact that the lowering, heavy clouds 
which had threatened snow the night before had van- 
ished and only the vague morning mists which the 
rising sun would quickly scatter hung over Lookout. 
The early morning air was keen and dry, and her 
fingers tingled from this brief contact with its cold- 
ness as she entered the large kitchen, already over- 
heated by Aunt Chloe. She found that venerable 
old dame with her sleeves rolled to her elbows, whip- 
ping eggs, and loquaciously dwelling on her method 
of concocting the thick creamy drink so in demand 
at this season. “ Now fust,” she remarked to the 
two younger women, who neatly turbaned and in 
their fresh white aprons stood listening, ready to as- 
sist her should she give them the opportunity, — “ now, 
fust, of co’se, fresh eggs am of necessity; — Miss Di- 
nah, you mought ^s well just stir in that sugar with 
them yelks, — fo’ ebery dozen eggs you wants a qua’t 
good old rye; — jist put in bout half poun’ of that 
sugar! — well, yes? it moughten tek so much, an’ it 
mought tek a li’l mo’; but you all must jist jedge by 
yo’ taste — ” 

Lem came bounding into the kitchen ; “ Chrismus 
Give, Chrismus Give! Miss Mayme, — Aunt Chloey — 
Miss Dinah — Chrismus Gi — ” 

Mayme assured him that later when the family 
had assembled he could come in and she would “ give 
him a stocking all to himself — ” 

“ Yes, — you will find a hickory stuck in a stockin’ 
full of ashes, I reckons,” laughed Mandy. 


A FIERY SWORD. 265 

“ ril give it to you, yo’ lazy, good fo’ nuthin’ lim’ 
o’ Satan! ” cried Old Chloe. “ Tumblin’ in heah wif 
yo’ noise, upsotten’ de lightness of my aiggs in dat 
way. — Yo’ mus’ beat dem yelks till deys a foamin’ 
Miss Dinah ; — Heah, gimme dat biggest yaller bowl — 
there on the shelf — Mandy! Dese whites am as 
stiff as de frozen snow;” and she placed the wide 
flat dish on the shining pine table. “ Fotch me about 
a cup of sweet milk, Mandy! ” she commanded. Hav- 
ing stirred that well in, she continued, stirring rapid- 
ly: “Now, den — yo’ must stir moughty fast so’s not 
to cook the aiggs, while yo’ ’lows de whiskey to run 
slow — slo-o-ow-ly from de jug. Den yo’ teks a cup, 
so, an’ mixes de whites through de mixture, an ’t ’s 
ready to dip up an’ po’ into de glasses.” 

Lem stood close by, his mouth watering and his 
big black eyes rolling, his whole face expressive of 
suppressed eagerness for a taste of the deliciously 
fragrant creamy liquid, as Miss Mayme picked up a 
small grater and stood ready to add a dash of nut- 
meg as a last filip to each glass of the eggnog. 

“ G’way, yo’ nigger! youse to’ young, this heah 
stuff ’s ’not fo’ the likes of you, chile ! ” exclaimed 
Aunt Chloey in stentorian tones; her voice softening 
as she saw the wide open grin on the small black 
face gradually subside into a disappointed look of 
longing. 

Mayme placed two glasses on a tiny tray and left 
the kitchen; laughingly remonstrating with old Aunt 
Chloey on her hardness of heart. 


266 A FIERY, SWORD. 

“ Wellum, ni see’s’ theys any lef’;” replied the 
old woman, relenting somewhat towards the youth- 
ful figure hanging over the end of the long table. 

“Merry Christmas, Cousin Bertie; Merry Christ- 
mas, Cousin Fidelia! ” cried Mayme, as she knocked 
energetically at the door. “ It’s the early bird that 
catches the eggnog,” she laughed, kissing Fidelia, 
warmly, when she appeared, calling out a cheery 
“ good morning ” to Gilbert. 

They all presently descended to the library, where 
the stockings hung like so many strings of bologna 
sausages before the fireplace. Lem was lurking like 
a dark shadow just outside the door, and when Col- 
onel Stanwood bade him enter the room he bounded 
in quickly. As he felt all eyes turned upon him 
he came more slowly, with an embarrassed grin 
spreading from ear to ear. His thick red lips nar- 
rowing over his shining white teeth, his eyes and 
mouth growing bigger as he saw the size of the 
stocking handed him; rushing off eager to examine 
its contents. 

Colonel Stanwood’s home was always a scene of 
gayety upon such occasions. He had from Mayme’s 
childhood kept up the custom out of deference to her 
loneliness and wishes, of giving a Christmas tree to 
the neighbor’s children, and no child, no matter what 
the color of its skin or the texture of its garments, was 
sent away empty-handed. 

Mr. and Mrs. Allerton came early in the afternoon 
with Marjorie and Master Donald. 


A FIERY SWORD. 267 

After the “ youngsters,” as Colonel Stanwood 
styled the youthful recipients of his bounty, had been 
sent away rejoicing to their own homes, the older 
folks came in for a share of the merriment. 

Old-fashioned country dances were selected as 
more suitable for the occasion, since none need be 
well versed in Terpsichorean art to participate. As 
the musicians started off with the “ Virginia Reel,” 
followed by the “ Flowers o’ Edinboro,” Colonel Stan- 
wood stepped up and bowed low before Mrs. Aller- 
ton, as he requested her for the dance. At the sound 
of this last tune her youth seemed renewed as if by 
magic, and it was with almost the grace of her girl- 
hood that she accepted his outstretched hand and to- 
gether they made their way between the long file of 
admiring faces to the end of the line. Even Bertie, 
who never was known to dance, was prevailed upon 
to join the mad swirling; and as the evening wore on 
he felt the conviction that as never before so never 
again would his pleasurable participation in the mazes 
of a dance be so complete. 

Out of respect for the dawning Sabbath, the last 
guest had been bidden Godspeed before the distant 
tones of the town clock chimed out midnight. The 
family sat long, however, over the coals, each one 
retailing his enjoyment of the evening and touching 
with sadness of heart upon Fidelia’s departure so soon 
again for the East. 

Gilbert, while looking forward with a sinking 
heart to another long period of loneliness during her 


268 


A FIERY SWORD. 


absence, was, nevertheless, more disposed towards her 
leaving than he had been in the first instance. The 
success of her first trip had broadened his estimation 
of her talents; and since he wished, now that they were 
on the eve of prosperity, not to seem a drawback, he 
wisely kept the sense of his own personal loss of her 
presence in the background. Yielding his opinion 
on the subject unselfishly. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


269 


CHAPTER XXI. 

“Ay, since beyond these walls no heaven 
there be, 

Joy to revive or wasted youth repair, 
ril not bedim the lovely flame in thee. 

Nor sully the sad splendor that we wear.” 

It was late in the afternoon when Fidelia descend- 
ed from the train at Jersey City. She drew her furs 
closer about her throat and shivered as she came in 
contact with the wintry atmosphere. The Pullman 
had been so heated that during the journey she had 
almost forgotten it was winter, except when remind- 
ed of its presence by an occasional glance from the 
car windows out upon the forests, rich in the glory 
of their autumnal foliage when she made her first 
trip along the same route, now with slender bare poles 
and branches, weighted down to earth with the snow 
that lay heavily all over the country. 

The cold air felt good to her face as she left the 
station and made her way through the ferryboat to^ 
the front deck. She deposited her handbags near 
the door and as she stepped outside the wind cut 
her with its icy keenness. The beauty of the scene 
appealed to her imagination so strongly she was for 
a time insensible of the severe cold. There was a 


2yo 


A FIERY SWORD. 


deceptive warmth in the clear wintry sunshine touch- 
ing upon the towering heights of the buildings in 
front of her. She had carried this scene so long in 
her mind that it was like drawing forth a much loved 
picture from its hiding place to gaze upon it once 
again. The great golden dome of the World build- 
ing, now bathed in sunlight, seemed to her the prom- 
ise of hope. Even the boat, crunching through the 
broken slabs of ice which filled the river at this sea- 
son of the year, seemed symbolical of the obstacles 
she had overcome and would yet overcome, as tri- 
umphant she reached her dock, and after much puffing 
and straining, unloaded her passengers. 

Fidelia felt a quiver of gladness as she handed her 
checks to an expressman and gave the address of 
Miss Banks. There was such a sense of indepen- 
dence in her actions as she picked up her small bag 
and stepped out towards the Elevated Station. She 
now felt perfectly at home upon the streets of New 
York; even the faces of the little newsboys seemed 
familiar and friendly. There was none of that shrink- 
ing within one’s self which comes from the newness, 
the strangeness and uncertainity of one’s surround- 
ings, and which she had felt so sensitively upon her 
first arrival. 

When she reached her boarding house. Miss Banks 
greeted her as effusively as an old friend. Enter- 
taining her in her voluble, vivacious way with a de- 
tailed account of all the good luck as well as ill luck 
that had befallen her guests — Miss Banks always 


A FIERY SWORD. 2 ^\ 

spoke of her boarders as “ guests ” — during the in- 
terval of her absence. 

“ No; ” in answer to Fidelia’s query, “ Mr. Linton 
had not yet produced his “ sketch.” He had been 
offered six hundred dollars a week for it but was hold- 
ing out for a thousand.” 

Fidelia was surprised at this, as she knew that 
Nestor Linton had been dependent on Miss Banks’ 
bounty for several months past. “ But, then,” she 
reflected, Mr. Linton was not a man to let his self- 
respect suffer for so trivial a matter as an “ unpaid 
board-bill.” Not while he placed such value upon 
his literary and dramatic ability. For had he not 
reiterated and reiterated — and she smiled as she re- 
called the flash of fire from his black eyes, the dramat- 
ic gusto with which he would bring his closed hand 
down upon the dinner table — the scene usually took 
place at meal time — as he exclaimed with much fer- 
vor : “ I reiterate I would starve in a garret before 
letting any robber of a manager get the best of me ! ” 
Of course, she reflected, he had never had an oppor- 
tunity of putting this stern resolve into practice, since 
Miss Banks’ generosity and faith in his ability to per- 
form all his promises precluded any such strenuous 
existence on his part. 

Fidelia arose early the following morning and pre- 
sented herself at the office of Archibald Clavering 
Baldwin. 

“By jove! but you are an early bird,” exclaimed 
Baldwin, welcoming her heartily and in a. manner 


A FIERY SWORD. 


272 

that left no doubt of the genuiness of his feelings. 
“ But you are right, I like to see a woman in earnest 
over business transactions.” 

“ I thought that was our trouble;” answered Fi- 
delia ; “ that we are supposed to be too earnest about 
business matters, nowadays.” 

“ Earnest enough? — a sort of hysterical earnest- 
ness, perhaps, with most women — but you lack per- 
sistency. Oh, oh,” waving her half-ejaculated denial 
aside with fat, uplifted palm, “ you can all be persistent 
enough, I know, at times ; but then, you see, a woman 
changes her mind so often you can never depend upon 
her!” 

“Now I might answer you with that old world- 
worn platitude about that’s being a woman’s preroga- 
tive;” she replied, archly, “but I won’t — I simply 
hope that you will find me the exception.” 

“ I am ready to admit that fact now — at once ! ” 
he exclaimed, flatteringly. 

And after a few preliminary and courteous re- 
marks as to her journey, Baldwin informed her, much 
to her relief of mind, that the company had been 
formed and they only awaited her arrival to begin 
the rehearsals of the play. 

This work was begun immediately; and it seemed 
to Fidelia, engrossed as she was, with heart and soul 
in the work, that for days she neither consciously 
ate nor slept. The rehearsals were long and tedious 
and trying. The play was along classical lines, full 
of a quiet, still passion that revealed its strength in 


A FIERY SWORD. 


2/3 


the power of repression. She found it difficult work 
to make the members of the company agree with her 
in this. Baldwin, however, had unbounded faith 
in the piece as she interpreted it, and insisted on his 
manager’s forcing them to accept her interpretation 
of each character. They one and all rebelled. It 
was exceedingly trying work to impress upon them 
the importance of her own ideas as to how certain 
lines should be rendered; they naturally resenting such 
interference from one who so clearly proved in her 
arguments her deficiency in all the little technicalities 
of the stage. However, though lacking in technique, 
Fidelia had the gift strongly developed of making 
others see a thing as she saw it, and by degrees she 
won them over to her way of thinking. 

Some days the rehearsals would go off with a dash 
and verve that was exceedingly gratifying to Fidelia, 
watching carefully that in no part of the play her 
meaning might be obscured or missed. Other days, 
everything seemed to go wrong. But through it all 
Fidelia never lost patience nor failed in courage. Her 
magnetism, her unbounded enthusiasm eventually had 
its effect upon them. She buoyed them up contin- 
ually to their parts. The manager noting this grew 
to depend upon her and insisted upon her being al- 
ways present. Consequently the weeks that followed 
were very trying; when not engaged with rehearsals 
she was deep in consultation with scenic artists. But 
at last, her perseverance, her faith, and her diligence 
were rewarded; — though it was with quaking heart 


274 A FIERY SWORD. 

she followed the company to the small town where 
it was deemed best to give the trial performances, and 
she tremulously awaited the provincial verdict that 
meant so little to the world and so much to her. 

But if the play went well, disaster seemed to fol- 
low the members of the company. Fidelia was con- 
stantly in demand as understudy for some one or an- 
other; and, finally, when the leading woman, whose 
understudy had already been sent home with la grippe, 
succumbed to that disease, failure seemed to stare 
them in the face. They were booked for that night’s 
performance and it was impossible in the limited time 
to secure some one else for the part. Rather than 
disappoint the public, Fidelia accepted the manager’s 
suggestion that she herself take the role for the time 
being. From her constant and close attendance upon 
rehearsals she was perfectly familiar with the lines, 
having all an author’s fondness for the character as 
she had originally conceived it. Realizing that much 
depended upon herself for the success of the evening’s 
performance, she threw her whole heart and soul into 
the extra rehearsal called for that afternoon; and when 
it was over she felt herself equal to face even a metro- 
politan audience. 

Her self-assurance saved the day. Never had 
there been a more brilliant performance of the piece 
given. There was a subdued earnestness in her act- 
ing which captivated her audience. They one and 
all admitted her genius. With her innate grace and 
refinement of manner she fell naturally into the cor- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


275 


rect poses, and her voice and manner was full of 
magnetism. At times her tones were tense and low, 
but always clearly enunciated. At times her au- 
dience seemed enchained as they hung breathless, ex- 
pectant upon her every word ; every movement. And 
when it was all over, and after a dozen curtain calls, 
she sank exhausted and almost in a state of collapse 
upon a low chair upon the stage, the company, man- 
ager and all, crowded about her to congratulate her 
and to persuade her to continue in the role — her con- 
ception and rendition of the part being so different; 
so superior; to that of the leading woman engaged — 
she herself recognized her fitness and her ability to 
sustain the character she had created. The encour- 
agement of the audience as well as the persuasion of 
the company, who had one and all grown to adore 
her, also had its weight. She seized upon the oppor- 
tunity which thus finlooked for presented itself, not 
so much from a desire of becoming an actress — she 
cared naught for the notoriety nor the popularity that 
attaches to such work — but because of the chance 
thus afforded her to gain practical experience in 
stage business, her far-seeing mind recognizing that 
such an experience would be invaluable in her future 
work. 

But while she recognized the advantages of a 
season with the company, her friends at home were 
not so clear-sighted. They looked with much dis- 
favor upon this outcome of her trip. Gilbert, whose 
faith in her ability had been tremendously strength- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


276 

ened of late, remained neutral in his expressions on 
the subject, and continued along the even tenor of 
his way blandly tolerant of all adverse criticism. 
“ He had left the matter in Delie’s hands, and if she 
saw fit to join the company, then it must be for the 
best.” He was not much disposed towards arguing 
the subject, having a secret aversion to all disputes, 
and answered all questions with the simple “statement 
that revealed unquestionably his confidence in his 
wife to do the right thing at all times. 

Gordon Allerton felt that whatever her motive, he 
could but approve of the step she had taken, secretly 
admiring her pluck and ambition. But not so Mrs. 
Gordon Allerton; she was not a bit backward in ex- 
pressing her condemnation of. this stage-struck young 
woman, who had, as she devoutly believed and so 
expressed herself at the next regular meeting of the 
Ladies’ Aid Society, “ ta’en up wi’ the works o’ the 
de’il hisself.” So that in the light of her fierce de- 
nunciations on this last step of Fidelia’s, Allerton 
was constrained through his love of peace and quiet- 
ness in the house to refrain from freely and openly 
voicing any opinion that differed with hers; in fact, 
experience had long ago taught him the wisdom of 
silence upon some subjects. And whenever the 
question came up, as it frequently did amongst their 
friends, he seemed apparently and supremely indif- 
ferent. 

But he was possessing his soul in patience; mean- 
while gradually accustoming his wife to his going to 


A FIERY SWORD. 


277 


a stockholders’ convention within the next few days. 
Although self-opinionated on most subjects Mrs. Al- 
lerton was not insensible to the advantages to be 
gained by her husband in his business through these 
meetings, and demurred not at all when he broached 
the subject of his necessary absence from home. 

Allerton went to the convention. The momen- 
tous business in hand was transacted sooner than any 
one of them had anticipated. The visiting commit- 
tees had been wined and dined by the local members, 
and now found themselves free to return to their re- 
spective homes and families. 

He stood in his room at the hotel looking at his 
watch. There was yet time to catch the midnight 
train South. “ But,” he thought, longingly, “ with- 
in a few hours’ journey was Fidelia — and in her newly 
acquired role of actress?” The temptation was too 
great; the distance between them too short. It did 
not take him long to decide that he would start for 
New York the next morning. 

He timed his arrival so as to reach the small town 
where the company was playing for the evening per- 
formance. The last strains of the orchestral prelude 
died away as he took his seat well back in the box. 
Afraid that his unexpected appearance might dis- 
concert Fidelia should she see him, he drew the cur- 
tains so that he had an unobstructed, but narrow view 
of the stage; and sat expectant. His heart thrilled 
at sight of her as she appeared upon the stage, while 
the low, musical tones of her beloved voice set his 


A FIERY SWORD. 


278 

pulses throbbing. She was there. Before him. 
Alive with animation and radiantly beautiful. This 
sight of her once more under such conditions set his 
head on fire and his ears beat so he scarcely knew or 
cared what she was saying. Irresistible at all times, 
she was adorable now. He knew the play; had he 
not gone over it with her word for word, line by line, 
time and again. But as he listened it took on a new 
meaning for him; and he had eyes and ears for no 
one else but Fidelia, Fidelia! She was the only one 
on the stage. The radiant Star! The whole play. 
Nothing else or no one else counted for anything. 
He sat absorbed; oblivious even to the thunderous 
applause calling her time and again before the curtain. 

He bided his time but impatiently, and quietly 
left the box as the last curtain fell, hurriedly making 
his way to her dressing room. He could hear the 
audience shouting, clamorous for her re-appearance, 
and the tinkling of the bell as the curtain rose and 
fell and rose and fell again and again; until it seemed 
to him sitting there waiting, so impatiently, with heart 
and blood afire, that they would never "part with her; 
never let her go. He felt like rushing out and drag- 
ging her off the stage. She was his! What right 
had they — had any one — to their maddened claims? 

Suddenly his acute ears, strained for the lightest 
sound, caught the swish, swish, of silken drapery and 
the light tread of sandalled feet. He arose as she 
entered the room, looking like a Greek goddess, her 
white silken gown clinging sinuously and in long 


A FIERY SWORD. 


279 

folds to her lithe, slender form; her brown eyes wells 
of golden fire; her cheeks aflame with the excite- 
ment of it all; her parted lips scarlet; and her breath 
coming and going in quick gasps of happiness. But 
at this sudden and unexpected sight of him, she stop- 
ped short, caught at the half open door in her frighten- 
ed, wondering amazement, and with a half audible 
cry, the scarlet receded from her face and lips leav- 
ing her white and spent with surprise and emotion. 
Her eyes enlarged with sudden fear as suddenly 
changed to happiness as she realized that it was not 
an apparition — but Allerton’s own voice that cried 
out her name so joyously: 

Fidelia! ” 

Gordon! ” 

His voice sounded afar off, as she answered. 

Allerton caught her swaying form and she lay 
weakly in his arms for a moment. 

“My Queen!” he murmured. “It was cruel, I 
know it; ” and he reproached himself for his thought- 
lessness, as he led her to a seat. “ I should have 
prepared you for my coming;” as she burst into an 
uncontrolable flood of tears, sobbing hysterically for 
a time. “ Well, well, I was scarcely prepared to be 
inundated with your joy!” he exclaimed, laughing 
nervously at her excitement at one minute and using 
more soothing means the next to calm this hysterical 
outburst which his sudden appearance had brought 
about. 

Presently when she had recovered herself, her eyes 


28 o 


A FIERY SWORD. 


shone luminous as stars as she laughingly bade him 
await her outside. Soon she was gowned for the 
street, and together they made their way to her hotel. 

* “ I am deeply grateful, dear Gordon, for the kindly 

* interest that prompted you to come all this way just 
to see me in the role — ^to see me on the stage ! ” 

Refusing to believe his protestations that she her- 
self was the lode-star that had drawn him thither. 

“ I should have come, just the same,” he asseverat- 
ed, “ whether you had been on the stage or not.” And 
under cover of the friendly darkness his arm slipped 
around her waist with an affectionate pressure. 

When they reached her little parlor at the hotel 
she rang the bell and ordered the waiter to serve them 
supper. Allerton listened as she gave the order. 

“And waiter!” she called him back, “bring a 
bottle of Veuve Cliquotl ” 

Allerton in his haste to reach the theater had not 
dined. His train had been late and the thought of 
seeing Fidelia so soon again filled him with excite- 
ment to the exclusion of all mundane needs. But 
just now, as he sat listening to Fidelia, all things 
mundane and spiritual were forgotten as she ordered 
a dainty, appetizing spread put before them; the 
words tripping off her tongue as smoothly and gaily 
as if she had been to the manor-born. Was this, 
the plain little “ black-eyed Susan,” that had gone 
to him so eagerly in those first days with all her 
■ queries and struggles? His heart leaped and his 
' bosom swelled with self-gratification in the part he 


A FIERY SWORD. 


281 


had had in this transformation. For from out the 
dull-brown chrysalis of poverty and repression had 
come this radiantly beautiful woman, who turned 
towards him with flashing eyes and melting lips, 
while laughingly, imperiously, she bade him await her 
return. She disappeared through the portiered door- 
way, singing a gay little song of happiness. 

Fidelia returned shortly, and as she parted the 
heavy hangings, she paused a moment in the doorway 
while she clasped a heart-shaped ruby pendant to 
a slender thread of gold encircling her throat, and 
which now lay against its whiteness like a blood-red 
coal glowing with the fires of wine. She had chang- 
ed her gown to one more suitable to the house, and 
as she stood thus with uplifted arms, the wide-flow- 
ing sleeves revealing their delicious curves, the soft, 
pinky-whiteness of the bare flesh, Allerton arose im- 
pulsively, heart-sick, with a longing to clasp her to 
his breast, to press his lips to those cool, soft, white 
arms. He took a step forward, and then as their 
hands fell once more to her side, and his eyes caught 
the crimson scintillations of the jewel at her throat, 
he hesitated — almost forced back by the potent, talis- 
manic sight of this stone, given her in the early days 
of their friendship to make the more sacred its wearer. 

'' O Heart of Blood! Sacred still and potent! ” 
he thought, since it had belonged to his Sainted 
Mother. “ Signal still that its wearer was his by 
right of Love’s conquest, though it held such sacred 
sway.” 


282 


A FIERY SWORD. 


And he drew back feeling that he could not insult 
her with this passionate desire, while, all uncon- 
sciously, she thus shielded herself behind its pure, 
sacred and sacrificial flame. 


A flERY SWORD. 


283 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“Tis a history 

Handed from ages down; a nurse’s tale — 

Which children, open-ev’d and mouth’d devour; 

And thus as garrulous ignorance relates. 

We learn it and believe.” 

Mrs. Allerton sat one sunny afternoon in the large 
bay-window overlooking the river. Her knitting 
needles lay idle upon her lap whilst her thoughts 
played busily round and about scenes in the “ auld 
North-countree.” Scenes of her childhood held dear, 
which she longed for and hoped to revisit some day. 
Only a few minutes before she had held Master 
Donald upon her lap, filling his eager, boyish mind 
and heart with the glorious deeds of his ancestors, 
the MacDonalds; and after whose chieftan he had 
been named. But her thriftiness exerting itself she 
had sent the boy away again to his play, while she 
resumed her work. “ It was a sin to waste her time 
in such idleness,” she told him, “ besides,” she thought 
to herself, “ such stories were only for the bedtime 
hour, when sleep needed wooing to childish eyes.” 

The first days of her husband’s absence sped by 
unnoticed. She had again entertained the Ladies’ 
Aid Society, and the work of preparing for this had 


A FIERY SWORD. 


284 

kept her so occupied she had had no time for reflec- 
tion. Then, too, Mayme had at this meeting report- 
ed the success of Mrs. Griscom’s play, as well as the 
greater and more glorious success Fidelia had achiev- 
ed upon the stage. This gave impetus to the con- 
versation that afternoon, and Mrs. Allerton had re- 
sented this turn of their interests by stating the fact 
that “ the de’il is always good to his own.'^ And 
when Mayme in her impulsive, enthusiastic way in- 
formed the ladies assembled that she was “ just dying 
to go to New York to see cousin Fidelia on the 
stage!” she mentally classed that young woman in 
the same category. 

But no feeling of animosity held sway in her mind, 
to-day. The air was warm with the suggestion of 
Spring, and this brought the thought of the approach- 
ing time for “ house-cleaning.” This occupation had 
a certain charm for her as she picked up her neglect- 
ed work and busily applied herself, although gazing 
now and then across the river to the slender-wooded 
young forest on its opposite hills. 

Somehow she could not settle herself to work as 
usual, and her thoughts continually reverted to her 
old home; to its Bens’ and Lochs’, to its purple 
heather-covered hills; to its moors and fens. Sud- 
denly her needles dropped as she all at once became 
conscious of a low sighing, sobbing sound within the 
room. She looked about her. There was a weird 
sort of music in the tones that caught her ears ever 
so faintly, and which yet seemed so far away. 

“ Donald!” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


285 


She called through the window to the child. 

‘'Donald! — is that you, Donie?” 

Thinking that perhaps the child had hurt himself, 
and “ was frighted to come near her,” she arose and 
opened the door leading to the hall. But no, through 
the glass door opening on to the piazza she beheld 
him racing about the front yard with the little Scotch 
terrier, “ Spitfire,” tagging lazily behind. Marjorie 
was away at school she knew; and as it was her maid’s 
afternoon out, she was entirely alone in the house. 

“ Oh, pshaw! ” she thought, “ it was nothing but 
the whistle of some boat passing down the river,” and 
returned to her seat in the bay-window. But again 
she was conscious of the softly sobbing notes near 
her. And as they grew fainter and fainter, she re- 
called that afar back in the annals of her family was 
chronicled a legend “ that when death was near to 
any member of the ancient house of the MacDon- 
alds, they were forewarned by this ghostly sound of 
music.” She arose as though by impulse to shake 
off this superstitious dread that clung to her. 

Through the windows she could see Donald racing 
madly about in the sunshine; his golden curls blown 
back from his laughing face. She could hear the 
shrill, happy tones calling back to the little old ter- 
rier making such brave efforts to keep up with the 
child’s pace. “ Come on, Spitfire, you lazy old 
doggie!” 

She raised the window and called to the child: 


286 


A FIERY SWORD. 


“Come in, darling! Come inside! You must 
not run any longer. Come in ! ” 

Somehow she felt that the child’s presence would 
dispel the superstitious shadows that filled the room. 
Insisting as she sat down again that “ it was nothing 
but a fancy, anyway!” She had been thinking of 
the olden times and naturally this legend — “ all super- 
stition ! ” she declared scornfully — “ followed in the 
wake of her thoughts.” 

Donald came rushing into the room with Spitfire 
panting behind him and threw himself against his 
mother’s bosom while she smoothed out the wind- 
tossed mass of hair that lay like a tangle of golden 
threads about his flushed little face. Spitfire curled 
herself up on the rug before the fire and lay there pant- 
ing furiously, her little pink tongue hanging from 
her open mouth like a drooping rose petal. The 
warm sunshine betokening an early spring, flooded 
the quiet room. Donald raised himself up quickly 
as he said: “ Listen Muvver! what a funny noise Spit- 
fire makes; she must be dweaming?” 

Mrs. Allerton’s heart stood still as there came 
again to her strained ears the low, peculiar wailing 
that sounded afar off like the wind-strung dirge of 
an Aeolian harp, and yet filled the room with its faint- 
ly low sighing. There was something uncanny about 
it. 

“So she is!” and she laughed nervously as she 
gathered the boy closer to her heart which now seem- 


A FIERY SWORD. 28/ 

ed to Strangle her with its wild throbbing. She 
could have believed that her own ears had deceived 
her, that the sound had been only a fanciful one born 
of her imagination; — but now that the child had 
noticed it also, it must be real! Still she refused 
to acknowledge it so, affirming again “ that it was 
only the dog dreaming on the rug before the fire.” 

She felt glad, however, when Marjorie returned 
from school with her laughter and chatter of the do- 
ings of the day; and equally thankful when her maid 
announced supper. She kept the children by her 
under one pretext and another until long past their 
usual bed-time; although unwilling to admit to her- 
self that she had the slightest fear or belief in the ful- 
filment of the superstitious predictions of the old le- 
gend. The sounds had been inexplicable, doubtless, 
she unwillingly admitted that much; but that there 
was anything supernatural about it she refused to 
believe. Still she could not help wishing Gordon 
were home. He had been gone a week now. He 
must even then be on his way. 

The night was a painfully long one. Her dreams 
were filled with the horrors of railroad accidents in 
which she struggled to release Gordon, shrieking for 
help as she saw her children pinioned down by fall- 
ing timbers, Marjorie dead and the blood staining 
across Donald’s golden curls, as his little face grew 
grayish and his blue eyes filmy while she looked on, 
her mother-heart torn with anguish, powerless to 


288 


A FIERY SWORD. 


move. As morning dawned she was seized with a 
nervous chill and lay all the day shuddering and fear- 
ful. She so wrought herself up that when Allerton 
reached home the following afternoon he found her 
ill and in a highly nervous condition bordering on 
hysteria. He could not understand this condition of 
her mind, as she was not a woman ever to give way 
to hysterical moods or fears, but by dint of question- 
ing he elicited its first cause and tried to laugh away 
her morbid frame of mind. Reassured by his pres- 
ence she was, but it was some time before she over- 
came the feeling that some terrible fate was impend- 
ing the family. 

Allerton went about his business as one distrait 
for the next few days after his return home. He 
constantly reproached himself for his wife’s illness; 
and for the weakness that led him to New York in- 
stead of returning home as soon as his business had 
been finished. His visit to Fidelia could but work 
injury in both ways. In fact, his love for her seem- 
ed a maelstrom which ever threatened to engulf them 
all. 

Mrs. Allerton, weakly convalescent, observed that 
his countenance displayed all that gloomy inquietude 
which it had manifested prior to his absence, and she 
immediately decided in her easily excitable mood that 
all was not going well at the works, and gave room 
to exaggerated but groundless fears that financial 
disaster was about to overtake them. From an 


A FIERY SWORD. 


289 

originally gentle and generous disposition Allerton 
seemed to become daily more and more gloomy, 
haughty, indifferent and morose. And she felt that 
she herself was irritable and difficult to please, and 
during her convalescence she reproached herself many 
times for her seeming lack of wifely appreciation of 
his many acts of tenderness in the past, thinking this 
indifference on her part might have something to do 
with his change of manner and feelings. She de- 
termined to take her place once more in her house- 
hold and arose one morning with this intention. She 
found, however, that she had kept her bed for so long 
that when she did get up the desire to go was all 
that she possessed; the ability was wanting. She 
found much to her chagrin that her illness had so 
weakened her and that the nervous dread of impend- 
ing disaster had operated so powerfully on her nerves, 
that her remaining strength was scarcely adequate to 
the performance of her ordinary household duties. 
She was a determined woman, however, and soon by 
sheer force of will conquered her weakness. 

Allerton had in the meantime, after a few days 
of morbid self-reproach and chastisement of spirit, 
observed his wife’s weakness and despondency, and 
had exerted himself to cheer her back to health again. 
His attempts were soon rewarded with success, for 
in a few days he saw that his wife had recovered her 
strength; this gratified him, although ere long he 
with the rest of the family felt the usual sharpness of 
her tongue. 


290 


A FIERY SWORD. 


One morning as he was leaving for his office, 
Mrs. Allerton called him back again to remind him of 
the concert to which they were invited that evening. 
He demurred somewhat at going, saying: 

“We shall see, my dear, how the weather is by 
eight o’clock to-night! From the rate it is storm- 
ing at present I should hardly advise you to brave 
the elements so soon after your illness.” 

Mrs. Allerton showed her disappointment, but 
checked the hasty speech ready on her lips, saying 
instead in resigned tones: 

“A few hours may make a difference; I don’t 
think it will last all day.” 

“ Certainly, if it is at all propitious, we will go ! ” 
exclaimed Allerton, “ as I would not like to disap- 
point Griscom. He has a solo for to-night, I be- 
lieve, and since he was good enough to invite us we 
will make some effort.” 

However, the rain did not cease by night time, 
and, moreover, there was a chill east wind blowing, 
keeping them at home much to the regret of both. 
Allerton could have gone alone, and his wife insisted 
on him so doing, but he preferred to remain com- 
fortably at his own fireside in conversation with his 
wife. Since her illness he was more gentle; more 
disposed towards humoring her, especially as she 
seemed to give way to nervous fears when left alone, 
and to-night he laughingly insisted that “ he preferred 
her company and the music of her voice to all the 
violins in Christendom ! ” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


291 


“ Awa’ with your havering! ” she laughingly ex- 
claimed, pleased, however, that such was evidently 
his wish; while this decision on his part made up for 
her disappointment in missing the concert. 


292 


A FIERY SWORD. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


‘‘How beautiful is youth! how bright it gleams 
With its illusions, aspirations, dreams! 

Book of Beginnings, Story without End, 

Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend!” 

Within a few days afterwards, Mayme called one 
afternoon to say good bye. 

“ I have at last persuaded dear old Dad to take 
me to New York,” she announced gaily. “ You 
were not at the concert?” she rattled on. “ Oh! it 
was simply heavenly. I never in my life heard 
cousin Bertie play better than he did that night. But 
he has been ill ever since. You know what a fright- 
ful night it was? — well — I reckon he must have caught 
cold that night. Dress suits are so thin! — anyway. 
Papa called at the office to see him and found he had 
not been down for three days. I have just left him, 
promising that you would look after him while we 
are away. A little cold plays such havoc with him. 
He is as white as a ghost and as poor and thin as 
Job’s Turkey, — and you know he was so thin he 
had to lean up against the fence to gobble ! ” she 
laughed. 

Mrs. Allerton sat sternly eyeing her all the while 


A FIERY SWORD. 


293 


she was talking; assenting now and then with a nod 
of her head; raising her hands with a gesture of 
surprise and a look of I-told-you-so, when she heard 
of Mr. Griscom’s illness. 

“ Cousin Bertie says he intends to go to business 
to-morrow; but I do not think he ought to; — but you 
will take good care of him, I know, dear Mrs. Aller- 
ton ! ” looking at her appealingly. 

“ Yes,” responded Mrs. Allerton, briefly, a hard, 
cold look in her clear blue eyes. “ Yes, I will go 
over and see him to-morrow, and if he is well enough 
to go out I shall insist on his coming home with me 
for a few days. He shall not be neglected ! ” 

Mayme impulsively and eagerly thanked her as 
she arose to go — 

“ But when is Mrs. Griscom coming home again? ” 
checking Mayme’s words of appreciation, as she eyed 
her severely and reproachfully. 

Oh, Cousin Fidelia couldn’t possibly come now. 
Why she could not possibly leave the company — the 
whole thing is dependent upon her now.” 

Mrs. Allerton remained sternly silent. 

“ She will be so grateful to you for your kindness 
to dear Bertie,” and Mayme stretched out her hand 
impulsively to grasp Mrs. Allerton’s. 

Mrs. Allerton, however, was not given to impul- 
sive hand-shaking, nor affectionate demonstrations 
of any kind for that matter, and raised her hand to 
her hair to save a loosened pin from falling as 
Mayme made to take it, thereby avoiding the ne- 


294 ^ FIERY SWORD. 

cessity of making- “ a fil of hersel’ with this half daft 
miss.” 

“ She may have to! ” she said severely. 

But her assumption of severity was lost on 
Mayme. That young lady was full of her coming visit 
to New York and of seeing Cousin Fidelia again — 
“just fancy her an actress!” she exclaimed without 
discernment enough to notice Mrs. Allerton’s frigidi- 
ty of manner upon the subject. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Griscom can get along most any- 
where. She’s clever enough for almost anything!” 
But her sarcasm went unnoticed by Mayme, and she 
replied enthusiastically : 

“ Oh, it is so good of you, dear Mrs. Allerton, to 
appreciate her so much. We all do! And now I 
must go.” When she reached the door, she said 
with much regret: “ I am so sorry the children are 
not at home. Say good bye to the dears for me, — 
and take good care of Cousin Bertie, won’t you? 
And thank you, so much!” shaking hands and kiss- 
ing Mrs. Allerton an affectionate good bye. 

Mayme’s visit to New York proved a most en- 
joyable one. Youth is ever tireless. And when 
not sight-seeing, attending theatres or balls in com- 
pany with her father and the Archibald Clavering 
Baldwins — both of whom were delighted with the 
little sunny-hearted daughter of the South, who, with 
her inborn grace and gentleness of spirit made friends 
wherever she went, every one recognizing the charm 


A FIERY SWORD. 


295 


of her simple and unaffected manner — she was lost 
in the bewildering maze and delights of shopping. 
She went from one fashionable shop to another with 
Mrs. Baldwin; seeking that lady’s advice many times 
in her decisions — the buying of a young woman’s 
trousseau being a most important and trying prob- 
lem at times. And when Mrs. Baldwin could not 
accompany her, she dragged Colonel Stanwood 
around. He was a willing contingent, however; 
his heart felt young again as he realized the happi- 
ness of his child — though protesting all the while 
that he was “too old for such foolishness;” insist- 
ing that if he gave her carte blanche to his purse, she 
ought to be satisfied; but immensely tickled when 
on such occasions Mayme would appeal to his good 
taste in deciding the momentous question as to which 
shade of chiffon was most becoming. “ Buy them 
both ! ” he would proudly answer, “ and decide af- 
terwards.” Good advice but extravagant. 

They had upon their arrival spent several days in 
suburban towns where Fidelia was playing. Mayme 
never tiring of seeing her clever cousin upon the 
stage. And now that a letter from Mrs. Griscom 
announced the return of the company to New York 
she was wildly happy over the news. 

“ I shall have a chance to see her as she is — as 
she was — ” 

They were at breakfast. Colonel Stanwood look- 
ed up from his own bundle of mail, puzzled to know 
whom she meant. 


296 A FIERY SWORD. 

“ No; — I don’t mean that^, she is always the same; 
but always so busy with rehearsals and thinking of 
rehearsals; so that I have not had a bit satisfactory 
visit with her since we came ! ” she declared, as she 
laid her open letter down while she finished the 
tempting morsel of chicken upon her plate ; “ which 
was not fried half so good as old Aunt Chloey’s.” 

Colonel Stanwood having finished his letters and 
his breakfast, picked up the morning paper, which 
he was trying to read between Mayme’s ejaculations. 
He laid his paper aside in despair, smiling, however, 
as Mayme continued with her letter. 

‘‘Oh, they are going to play in New York!” 
she screamed, her eyes following the letter as she 
raised the coffee to her lips. “ But not for a few 
weeks. Oh, I am so disappointed!” and she drew 
her brows together with a little petulant frown. “ I 
would like to see her in a decent-sized theatre before 
we go home. Those little country places are so 
poky! Can’t we stay — ? Can’t I stay — ? Mrs. 
Baldwin would love to have me with her!” she im- 
plored, as her father shook his head, regretfully. 

“ I am afraid not, daughter! besides, — what does 
Hilton write?” causing her to blush as he directed 
her glance with a motion of his head to another 
letter that lay before her. 

“Oh, he can wait;” she replied with a charming 
pout. “ He will have me long enough ! ” 

“ But I shall not; ” replied her father, sadly. 

“ Oh, you dear, darling, spoilt old Popsie ! ” cried 


A FIERY SWORD. 297 

Mayme, as she arose and impulsively flung her arms 
about his neck. “You have had me all my life; 
you ought to be glad to get rid of me by this time? ” 

“Come, come!” with mock protestation; “You 
forget you have an engagement with Mrs. Baldwin — 
we have dallied over the table long enough for this 
morning.” 

Mayme arose from the table, making a little moue 
as she gathered up her letters and her father rang the 
bell for the man to remove the breakfast things. 

“ Do have some pity for my hereditary indo- 
lence ! ” she retorted in her charming, half-womanly 
way, as she started towards the door of her bedroom. 

Her father called her back, smiling indulgently, 
as he said : “ Help your old Dad on with his coat, be- 
fore you go. I am to lunch with Baldwin at some 
club downtown, and will meet you at their house for 
dinner. So be good, little chickweed!” as he kissed 
her affectionately. 

The next day but one found Mrs. Griscom once 
more settled in her comfortable rooms at Miss 
Banks’. She had just come in from a short con- 
sultation with Archibald Clavering Baldwin and her 
manager, and the discussion of business had tired 
her out. She felt that the excitement and strain 
she had labored under for the past weeks had been 
more than most women could have endured. The 
constant travelling and playing at one-night stands 
had completely used up her strength, and she felt 


A FIERY SWORD. 


298 

when she threw herself down upon her couch for a 
short rest, that now the pressure was removed, she 
was tired enough never to rise again. 

Then, too, the letters she received from home were 
very disquieting. Bertie was ill again. He had 
taken cold at the Harmony Club’s concert. And 
although he did not come out and ask her in plain 
words to return home, there was a pathetic under- 
current to his letters that revealed this longing. She 
had half a mind to go back with Mayme and her 
father. Dear Bertie! He had his rights. And 
he had been so good, so patient! He deserved more 
.of love and wifely devotion than she had ever given 
him. But then, she thought, she did not see how 
she could possibly leave just then; — the company 
expected her to make her debut with them within 
two weeks for a short season in New York. So 
much depended on that first night! It made her 
nervous to think about it. Afterwards when their 
short season in the city was over she would hasten 
home and make it all up to him. And thus once 
more she silenced the “ still small voice within ” which 
faintly pointed out her duty. It was better that she 
should remain. There was too much at stake to 
run the chance of losing now by withdrawing her- 
self from the company. 

The little taste of success she had had was like 
wine in her veins, filling her with a desire to see 
what she could do before a critical metropolitan au- 
dience. 


A FIERY SWORD. 299 

Ah! if she pleased them — ! The thought was 

intoxicating. 

And for the moment, the world that contained 
Bertie was forgotten. All the affection she had once 
felt for him; all the pity which had filled her heart 
but a moment since now vanished as the smoke of 
the sweet incense of success clouded her brain. Ber- 
tie; — Allerton; — the world itself, was forgotten, as 
it wreathed itself roseately about her future. She 
had had just enough of the wine of success to make 
her long for more; for greater successes — success 
beyond even her wildest dreams — Fame! 

Fame! Ah! who having once drawn in one long 
breath of the sweet, insinuating, intoxicating and 
subtle odor which clings to its rarified heights can 
rest until they have scaled its steeps? Forgetful 
that from its pinnacle but a move will hurl them into 
oblivion; like a meteor which shoots forth, unsaved 
by the quick grasp of a Prometheus, and drops back 
to earth a charred stick — a leaden weight! 

Gilbert smiled sadly when he received the answer 
to his letter. His expectations had run high since 
he had penned it; although knowing almost before- 
hand what her answer would be. He knew what 
a sacrifice it would be for her to leave just then, yet 
he almost hoped she would do so. Fidelia wrote 
so convincingly — so sanguinely of their future; — her 
future; he felt that his part in it would soon be done. 

“Ah, God! Would that it had been otherwise! 
What was he now but a broken reed — best fallen.” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


300 

And his slender, stooping frame was convulsed with 
heart-sickening throbs. “ But she would come soon 
now. This last engagement would only detain her 
a few weeks longer, and then — ! ” 

With this renewal of his hopes he went about his 
work for the next few days with joyous alacrity of 
spirit. 

“Are you in, cousin Fidelia?” 

Mayme’s cheery tones sounded through the dark- 
ened room. 

“Oh, there you are! you dear old Coz! I do 
believe you have been sleeping,” she cried as Mrs. 
Griscom raised herself languidly from her couch. 
“ Just fancy any one’s sleeping on such a day as this? 
May I open the window? it is stiflingly hot in here! ” 

Mayme went across the room and drew up the 
green shades, throwing up the window to let in the 
fresh air. “ There,” she cried, as she let in a flood 
of sunlight. “ Those blue skies remind me of my 
dear old Southland. But you do look a wreck, 
dearest; you have been working altogether too hard 
of late. I do wish I could stay and see you play 
just once in New York. It would simply be splendid 
— but dear old Papa thinks he just must get home 
again ! ” and she rattled on in her bright, breezy way. 
Disappointments never seemed to aflect Mayme’s 
spirits for long at a time. 

She flushed rosily at the mention of “Ye knight 
of ye olden time,” as Mrs. Griscom spoke of him, 


A FIERY SWORD. 


301 


confiding that in his last letter he had said he miss- 
ed his little sunbeam dreadfully. But as I said to 
Papa, he will have enough of me in time ! ” 

“ Oh, Mayme!” laughed Fidelia, “as incorrigible 
as ever, I see. But I must get ready for luncheon, 
I had no idea it was so late, as she glanced at a 
little travelling clock on the mantel. 

“ Of all the news I have had from home, guess 
what is most surprising; most ridiculous!” and she 
broke into laughter at the thought. “ You can’t 
guess? — well I am not surprised at that, you never 
would. Elva sailed from San Francisco last week 
to join Gideon as a Missionary in China. The next 
thing that we’ll hear of will be a wedding in high life 
among the ‘ Heathen Chinee 1’ ” she laughed. 

“ Well, don’t you think she deserves some recog- 
nition for her perseverance,” queried Fidelia. “ If 
she follows him out there — to the ends of the earth — ” 

“ Why, she’ll get him — if she has to jump off this 
terrestial globe to do it! ” exclaimed Mayme. 

At the table, Mayme was charmed with voluble 
little Miss Banks and not a little attracted towards 
Nestor Linton, who informed her in his soft, easy 
drawl that “ she was so much like a dear sister of 
his.” 

“ Oh, we are always finding some one who re- 
sembles some one else!” answered Mayme, not ill- 
pleased at his evident admiration. 

“Well, do you know?” he replied, “that all my 
life long I have found myself grouping people into 


302 


A FIERY SWORD. 


classes — and really there are not so many of us after 
all. When I meet a stranger, I immediately assign 
him, mentally of course, to the John Jones or Tom 
Smith class, and nearly always I find that he fits into 
the niche where I place him — 

I have heard of pigeon-holing letters, but never 
thought of stuffing my mental crannies with people,” 
said Mayme, much amused. 

“ You take notice, and you will find it is just as 
though there were only a few models made in the 
beginning, and that we are all cut out by one pat- 
tern or another. And just as a dressmaker or tailor 
adds a bit of decoration or trimming to make one 
garment different from another, so old Mother Nature 
with a deft touch here and there, has made each one 
of us but a little different from our neighbor. But 
there was really very little originality in the work, 
we were all made in job lots evidently, and some- 
where in the world there are duplicates of ourselves.” 

“Yes; that may account for our often meeting 
persons with a striking resemblance to some one 
else ; ” assented Mayme, brightly. 

“ I quite agree with you, Mr. Linton, “ spoke up 
Mrs. Griscom, “ but have you also noticed that in- 
timate acquaintance does not bear out the comparison 
— in mannerisms or characteristics; as we get to 
know them their separate individually is strikingly 
impressed upon us in such a way as to efface the 
first impression. So that it is only an outward re- 
semblance after all.” 


A FIERY SWORD. 


303 


“ Well, I have, myself, sometimes observed,” said 
Miss Banks, who was eager to join in the conversa- 
tion, “ how different the left half of most faces is 
from the right It seems as though we were made 
in halves and got mixed up in the joining. And 
some of us got mightily mixed at that.” 

At this bright remark on the part of their landlady, 
they all laughed merrily. 

“ That is the idea, a la Socrates, you know; ” con- 
tinued Linton. “ While I should say the left eye 
is the eye of the heart and the right eye the eye of 
the brain, I would never place confidence in a man 
whose left eye did not please me.” 

Miss Banks, unnoticed by the others, observed 
Linton’s left eye closely while he was speaking, — 
but not over-satisfied with her scrutiny, replied: 

“ I would rather think it would be better to study 
both eyes before doing so.” 

Then that would be judgment between the eyes 
with a vengeance,” laughed Linton. 

“ Might it not prove an ironical judgment? ” 
queried Mayme, quite soberly. 

Oh, Mayme!” cried Mrs. Griscom, when they 
had recovered, “ do you know what becomes of peo- 
ple who make bad puns? ” 

“ They come to New York boarding-houses, I 
suppose;” answered Mayme, demurely; “ — but,” 
quite seriously, “ I thought that a particularly good 
one.” 


304 


A FIERY SWORD. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

“Gentle heart, O gentle heart, 

Faithful service didst thou render, 

Beating ever true and tender; 

On thee lies the silent spell, 

O loving heart, farewell, farewell.'' 

One week later, as Fidelia was preparing to at- 
tend a morning rehearsal, a telegram from Colonel 
Stanwood reached her: “ Gilbert dying. Come at 
once.” Only that morning she had answered a let- 
ter from Mayme, in which she said “ that Bertie had 
had another hemorrhage but was recovering from 
it; and while they would all feel happier if she were 
at home, still the physician had said it was so slight 
an attack it was a pity to alarm her unnecessarily.” 
Her heart was torn with anguish and fear over the 
news, and she had replied at once, saying she “ would 
come just as soon after the opening of the company 
in New York as she could possibly withdraw her- 
self, but so much was at stake that unless Bertie 
was seriously ill, it seemed the wisest plan for her to. 
remain until their short engagement had been filled.” 

‘‘ And now — he was dying.” 

The news came with such a shock that she made 
no sound, no cry of pain left her lips; she stood, with 


A FIERY SWORD. 


305 


her head slightly thrown back, as one turned to 
stone, the yellow paper fell from her hands and lay 
at her feet. The blood receded from her face leav- 
ing it in ghastly pallor against the background of 
her red-brown hair, her parted lips became a sickly 
blue. How long she stood she knew not, but it 
seem.ed hours, in which the lines about her mouth 
deepened, and her eyes grew expressionless, tense 
and hard. 

Miss Banks came into her room and spoke to 
her, she turned and looked at her with the dazed 
expression of one who understands naught — her 
words were meaningless. Miss Banks spoke again. 
Fidelia dimly divined; motionless, she met the won- 
dering glance of Miss Banks, but no sound came 
from her parched throat and lips — her whole face 
as expressionless as ever, as she strove to answer her. 

Miss Banks stooped, picked up the message, — 
and understood. 

“ Come,” she said kindly, putting her arms about 
her waist, “ you still have time to catch the afternoon 
train.” 

In the dim, flickering light of the solitary candle 
which cast weird, fantastic shapes upon the white- 
washed walls of the sick room could be heard only 
Fidelia’s wild, fitful sobbing as she knelt by her hus- 
band’s bedside, her arm thrown out protectingly over 
him as though defying the power that could snatch 
him from her so easily. Outside, the March wind 


A FIERY SWORD. 


306 

stormed and fretted and sent the rain pitilessly 
against the heavily curtained windows. 

Coming softly into the room, some minutes be- 
fore, she paused, — her eyes meeting those that burned 
with such consuming fire in their deep-set cavernous 
hollows. 

No sign of reproach came into the fast dimming 
eyes, as a smile of welcome flitted across the wan, 
weary face — a look of ineffable, saintly goodness, 
peculiar to the dying settling over it — Now — I — 
shall — die easy,” he murmured huskily, in brok- 
en tones. 

. . . Fidelia took the cold hand stretched out 
to her, already chilled by the shadow of Death’s ap- 
proach, and in whose gentle clasp was the faint pres- 
sure of a love that burned stronger than Death. More 
enduring than Eternity! 

“Bertie, Bertie, Bertie!” was the only thought 
that possessed her; as their glances met, she essayed 
to speak, but no sound came through her dry lips as 
she dropped down burying her face, that had grown 
shrunken and worn within the past two days, in the 
clothes by his side. Grief, — the sudden shock — re- 
morse, anxiety and fear lest he should die before 
she reached home had sealed up the fountain of her 
tears, her eyes burned like coals of fire in their 
sockets. But at the sound of his voice and touch 
of his hand, as he rested it lovingly on her bowed 
head, begging her to calm herself, telling her that 
she had nothing for which to reproach herself with — 


A FIERY SWORD. 2P7 

her long pent-up tears and agonizing self-reproach 
burst the barriers that had held her heart with grip 
of steel and she lay shaken and sobbing. 

Oh, if he only knew that this gentle unselfishness 
tortured her more than words of reproach! — 

Between the labored breaths he besought her in 
his low, weakened, tender tones to be calm. “ You — 
hurt — me so — , makes it — harder for me,” he implor- 
ed, faintly. 

She felt she could never forgive herself for neg- 
lecting him as she had. But at the knowledge that 
her grief made it harder for him to die, she strove 
to conquer herself by mighty effort of will. “ She 
had done him harm enough — hurt him enough 
already.” 

'Presently when there was stillness in the room, 
and she lay like one dead herself, one hand grasping 
his the other flung about his neck; Gilbert expressed 
a wish, in the low murmurous accents of one nearing 
the shores of Eternity — and whose tones are so dear 
to those straining their ears for the last sweet echoes 
of a voice that sounds so distant and far-away — for 
his violin. 

Propping him well up with pillows, the violin was 
placed in his hands; the slender, attenuated wrists 
seemed scarcely able to support its weight, but soon 
tremulous cadences from the instrument quivered and 
fell on the silence, quavering in unearthly heights 
above the sound of Fidelia’s sobbing; — at the first 
strains of the music she had swayed shivering and 


A FIERY SWORD. 


308 

dropped down on her knees, once more beside the 
bed, stifling the agony that threatened to burst forth 
in spite of her strong determination to keep her feel- 
ings within bounds — and she could not restrain her 
feelings but sobbed wildly as the music, now sinking 
to a low plaintive wail, panting and palpitating in 
unison with the deep, hard-drawn breaths — the harsh, 
discordant clang of death-agony — now wailing, float- 
ing away in melody which seemed in its even flow to 
“ carry the soul upon some cool, shaded, willowy 
stream, into the heart of the land of the happy dead.” 

Suddenly a light came into the large, soft-lidded 
eyes, a curious smile, eager and joyous, played about 
his lips; unconsciously letting fall his bow, he raised 
one hand as if to catch some unheard far-off sound, 
and then slowly, softly, it sought Fidelia’s outstretch- 
ed one, while over his features there spread the in- 
finite radiance of happiness that comes only with the 
lifting of the veil to a sense of supernatural things; 
and, as silently, swiftly, with that sweet, almost in- 
fantile smile on his lips, his soul was borne off as it 
were, on the last notes of that wordless sweet, solemn 
song of farewell from the dead. 

As the violin fell with a crash from the weakened 
grasp of the slender hands to the floor, his head slip- 
ping downward from the pillow, Fidelia raised herself 
hurriedly from where she knelt praying, her face bur- 
ied in the covers, and moving nearer clasped Gil- 
bert’s hand, that now seemed so cold — so clammy, 
within her own. 



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A FIERY SWORD. 


309 


Bertie — O my husband!” 

She sobbed wildly, unrestrainedly. But that gray, 
cold, shadowy presence, that had been creeping with 
quiet stealth ever nearer and nearer the bed, was 
unrelenting. 

Her agonizing cries, “ Oh, my husband! Speak 
to me — oh, God ! Once — once more — your Delie ! ” 
met with no responsive look, no responsive pressure 
of the fingers that lay, soft and limp and cold, within 
her own. 

After Gilbert’s death, Fidelia felt she could not 
remain in a home filled with so many bitter recollec- 
tions of her own conduct; so many sad, sweet memo- 
ries of his gentleness; his tenderness; his confidence; 
his unshaken faith to the end — and above all, the 
wealth of love poured out at her feet all their wedded 
life; and, from which she had so many, many times 
turned away. 

There are no thoughts so bitter — so agonizing, as 
those that come after we have buried our dead — the 
bitter self-reproach of having willfully neglected them 
during their lifetime! 

“ Oh! Bertie, Bertie! ” was the thought ever pres- 
ent, as she went from room to room, trying to decide 
which of her things she would like to keep and which 
to dispose of. Often she was forced to leave off 
her self-imposed task and fling herself upon a couch 
until she recovered from the hysterical yielding to 
her feelings. 

She had pondered long over the step she was tak- 


310 


A FIERY SWORD. 


ing, and had reached the conclusion that she would 
in future make New York her home. She felt, too, 
that now since Gilbert was gone, her interest in the 
place itself was gone also. It was his health that 
had brought them thither in the first instance. There 
were her friends, true! But they could always seek 
her in New York; and then, too, there was the pleas- 
ure of correspondence. Some little compensation 
for the loss of companionship. She would lose much 
in the friendship of dear little Mayme, and her whole- 
souled, genial father, Colonel Stanwood — who had 
always seemed more like her own parent. But then 
Mayme’s interest would soon be involved in otlier 
matters — in the making and creating the atmosphere 
of a new home. It was sad — that Bertie’s death 
should mar their plans. She felt a sincere sympathy 
for General Southmaide, he so longed for his happy- 
hearted little bride to cheer his lonely home. But 
Death has no greater respect for plans than persons, 
and relentlessly steps in without consulting either! 
She would like to have remained until after their 
wedding, but now she felt she could not! She would 
go away now and come back again for that happy 
event. 

She felt, too, that even though she would lose the 
strength she had always derived from Gordon Aller- 
ton’s love and companionship, it would, perhaps, be 
a wise thing for her to separate herself from his in- 
fluence for a time. Then, too, those of her ac- 
quaintance had not always treated her so kindly as of 


A FIERY SWORD. 3II 

late; and while she appreciated the fact that they had 
all come nobly forward in the hour of her deepest 
trial, she knew, intuitively, that she had but few real 
friends among them — friends who were true ; and who 
appreciated her strivings after the highest and broad- 
est expression of Life. 

She knew, too, that many of those who were 
strongest in their protestations and professed friend- 
liness had, in the past, openly and unkindly criticised 
her relations with Gordon Allerton; and that even 
though she remained and walked most circumspectly 
amongst them in the future there would always be 
some ready to doubt the genuineness of her actions. 

Moreover, all her interests now centered in New 
York — that city with its grand possibilities for the 
future drew her towards it. She must feel uncon- 
fined by the narrowness that encompassed her in the 
smaller town. 

She had grown to love the stage and it was her 
intention later to resume her work upon it. And 
it was there — in that city — that she could lose her- 
self, her consciousness, in the great surging sea of 
humanity and expand and grow into her Art! 


A FIERY SWORD. 


312 


CHAPTER XXV. 

“Heaven from above, and Conscience from within, 

Cry in his startled ear, ‘Abstain from Sin!’ 

The world around solicits his desire. 

And kindles in his soul a treacherous fire, 

"While, all his purposes and steps, to guard. 

Peace follows Virtue as its sure reward. 

And pleasure brings as surely in her train. 

Remorse and sorrow and vindictive pain.’’ 

During the summer following Gilbert’s death the 
Baldwins were exceedingly kind to Fidelia. In- 
viting her to join them in their rounds for the sea- 
son, their time had been spent at seashore and moun- 
tains, with a dash of Saratoga’s gayety thrown in. 
But with all their kind attentions she had passed a 
very saddened summer. The gay life of the fashion- 
able watering places and mountain resorts, the pleas- 
ures of the happy, laughing crowds frequenting them, 
in which she could take no part, as much from lack 
of inclination as out of a certain respect she owed 
her dead, had kept her saddened by the contrast 
which it presented to her feelings. She made no 
hypocritical pretenses to herself of having loved Gil- 
bert as a wife should love a husband and the knowl- 
edge, deep within her conscience, buried for years 
under the specious excuses of a heart hungering for 


A FIERY SWORD. 


313 


the love of another — this knowledge, shorn of all 
illusions, became the bare truth which now stabbed 
her all the more keenly for not having done so. 

While at the seashore she took a certain melan- 
choly pleasure in wandering far along the sands, seek- 
ing some isolated spot far away from the crowds of 
bathers, where she could be alone with her thoughts. 
And much of her time was spent far out upon some 
rock-bound clifif, where she would sit for hours in an 
aimless fashion, undisturbed except by the roar and 
dash of the waves, often unduly reproaching. herself 
for some remissness of wifely duties in the past which 
would have brightened Bertie’s life to the end. Ah, 
that the end could have been more clearly seen! Ah, 
the uncertainty of Life and the certainty of Death! 
She had overlooked its grim inevitableness whilst 
falsely buoying herself up with hopes of his returning 
health, whilst pressing forward to success with the 
hopes that her additional earnings would soon place 
within their means the change of climate which was 
to perform such miracles in this direction. But her 
success had been too long in coming. It had failed 
of the one purpose for which she had courted the 
smiles of Fortune. What mattered now if the fu- 
ture of her play was an assured fact? or that she had 
no longer to dread the morrow. And she smiled 
with grim irony as she recalled her struggles, her 
disappointments, and the little makeshifts of the days 
when the money in her purse was running low and 
her determination not to appeal to her friends at home 


A FIERY SWORD. 


314 

for assistance. None of them — not even Bertie, had 
known of these trials. But what was wealth, what 
was the comfort and luxury allowed her now, luxu- 
ries in comparison to what she had been accustomed 
to, — what was Fame? It was the dead sea-fruit; the 
ashes within her cup! None of them could bring 
back the past in which she had cruelly and wilfully 
neglected her sick husband. Had she but 
known? She would have sacrificed all and gone 
home when he first wrote of his illness. She would 
not have gone away at all. She would have stayed 
at home during the remaining short months of his 
life to give him all the wifely care and attention his 
loving heart, his good, harmless life deserved. Ah, 
the hopelessness of such reproaches! Never in this 
world would it be given her to atone. 

She grew thinner in these days and Mrs. Baldwin 
was much concerned about her health. The sea 
had had a depressing effect upon her spirits. Life 
seemed no longer worth the effort. She felt that 
she had separated herself from her friends in vain. 
She had sacrificed Allerton’s companionship in leav- 
ing Chattanooga, for all time. She no longer had a 
friend to whom she could turn for some word out- 
side herself. Oh, how much she needed him; his 
love; his sympathy! Would her soul ever again be 
able to rise above this Slough of Despond? ever again 
be able to shake its wings and soar to those intellec- 
tual heights which they had sought together? There 
was much in the society of the Baldwins, and she 


A FIERY SWORD. 315 

appreciated their friendship, their kindly endeavor to 
take her out of herself as it were. But aside from 
his material interests in the success of her play, Mr. 
Baldwin had never been able to enter into her thoughts 
and intellectual cravings; and although she found 
the gentle Theodosia particularly congenial, that lady’s 
social duties, and the light, assumed superficiality of 
manner, with which she ever surrounded herself, 
would ever keep them from intimate companionship 
on the more intellectual plane. Both women, how- 
ever, were glad when it came time to seek the cooler 
retreat of the mountains. Here they were thrown 
more together, revelling in the outdoor life and 
change of scenery. Surrounded by Nature’s gran- 
deur, both became more natural, freer in the ex- 
pression of their thoughts, and it was not long be- 
fore Theodosia’s light, spontaneous and genuine gay- 
ety of heart won against the brooding melancholy 
that had weighed down the other’s spirits for so long. 
It was not long before Fidelia felt that the higher 
altitude, the transcendent glory of the scenery about 
her, the ranges of mountains rising ever higher and 
higher as her eyes sought the distance, had elevated 
her soul once more, and she began to look forward 
again to her work in the future. 

Mr. Baldwin joining them a few weeks later for 
a protracted stay during the excessive heat of mid- 
summer, brought with him the news that they had 
booked the play for a New York season, and this 
helped to awaken her interests in life again, and 


A FIERY SWORD. 


316 

when the summer was on the wane it was with pleas- 
ure that she looked forward to establishing herself 
within that city. 

Then, too, Allerton had in a recent letter expressed 
the wish that he could join her in New York within 
the near future, and there would be the further solace 
and comfort of his love and companionship. Ah, 
life once more seemed filled with sunshine and happi- 
ness and a song of joy was in her heart. 

Allerton had missed her exceedingly after her 
departure. The letters that came to him during the 
summer had not been like herself. There was al- 
ways an apathetic want of interest in her surroundings, 
and a pathetic undercurrent of hopeless sorrow which 
filled him with anxiety. One morning after reading 
a letter from her in which she expressed more plain- 
ly than ever the hopelessness of the future, the thought 
came to him: 

“ JVhy. not join her? ” 

And he immediately set his wits to work to de- 
vise some means of doing this without bringing dis- 
credit upon her or disgrace upon his family. 

For days a plan simmered in his mind, but it 
meant the sacrifice of much to carry it out. Still 
its execution would be better for himself and all con- 
cerned. There was no other way of doing it. 

He must sacrihce his business \ 

“Ah, soul of my soul! Heart of my heart! I 
would gladly do more than this, did you but need a 
greater sacrifice to bring you peace; to bring you 


A FIERY SWORD. 


317 

happiness! By the higher laws of Love have we 
not already attained that heavenly marriage ” of the 
soul that no man can put asunder? Are not our 
hearts just as united as when Time has passed away 
there will be no longer any earthly intervention. No 
longer any giving or taking in earthly marriages?” 

But how to get his wife’s consent to such a step 
was his next consideration. He could not make 
known his motives for wishing to dispose of his bus- 
iness, and she was certain to raise strenuous objec- 
tions to his doing so. Ah, well! his fertile mind 
would have to invent some excuse. He was already 
fast becoming known as the “ iron magnate ” of the 
South, and destined to become a millionaire within 
the next few years But all this was nothing. What 
was the solace of riches, if their achievement denied 
him the presence, the society, the companionship and 
love of the one woman in all the world to him; and 
whose companionship and love he so missed and so 
longed for. 

He went about with his thoughts so distracted 
from his duties by the thought of this means that 
lay within his reach of joining her, he could no longer 
intelligently attend to his business affairs. And his 
absentmindedness, his fits of abstraction and gloomi- 
ness, his irritability concerning all things pertaining 
to his family and home had paved the way so well, 
that his wife was not surprised when one night after 
the children had retired he broached the subject. 

“ I am losing money every day that I remain in 


A FIERY SWORD. 


318 

the business. And if this thing goes on, my dear, 
we shall all be beggars soon!” he exclaimed, after 
giving her a falsely detailed account of his affairs. 
“ It is the ‘ Trusts,’ ” he declared, “ which is ruining 
m.e and hundreds of other smaller concerns.” 

“ But why not join the combination, yourself? ” she 
queried, astutely. 

“ Oh, it would only prove the old story of the big 
fish swallowing the little ones!” he asserted, impa- 
tiently, determined to carry his point at whatever the 
cost of truth. 

Once having planted the seed of distrust within 
his wife’s mind as to the future prosperity or more 
probable failure of his business, he watered it with 
assiduity; daily relating a more and more depressing 
story as to the condition of affairs; dropping a vague 
hint now and then that it would be far better for him 
to dispose of his interests before it was too late; but 
suggesting this solution of affairs in so subtle a way, 
that his wife never realized when he attained his de- 
sire: that of having her put the suggestion in words. 

Oh,” he said to himself, with contempt of the 
means he was forced to employ, when she began to 
almost insist upon his disposing of his business and 
entering some other “ which that hydra-headed mon- 
ster had not yet clutched within its relentless grasp ; ” 
— “ I have become an adept in the art of duplicity.” 
But while he scorned the means, his heart leaped with 
joy at the thought that he was all the while insidious- 
ly accomplishing his purpose of joining Fidelia in 


A FIERY SWORD. 319 

New York. And since his wife had suggested that 
he enter some other business, what was more nat- 
ural than that he should suggest seeking a wider 
field. And why not New York? A man of his 
capabilities could not have a better opening than the 
great metropolis of the East afforded. He was tired 
of his present business and would seek in the future 
more congenial employment. Very possibly the edit- 
ing and management of some paper or magazine de- 
voted to iron interests. But he would much prefer 
getting away from it altogether.. He hardly knew 
what he would take up, but that need not worry her. 
There was surely good opportunities awaiting the 
right man. 

Mrs. Allerton would have much preferred her hus- 
band’s remaining in the little city she had grown to 
love since their long residence there. She hated the 
idea of going to a strange city where she would have 
to form new ties. She was not a woman to make 
friends easily, and it had been such hard work for 
her to establish herself in the envied position she 
now filled socially amongst the women she knew. 
She loved her church work, also, and through being 
an indefatigable worker for its interests had lately 
been elected president of the Ladies’ Aid Society. 
And to think that now she must give it all up! The 
little taste of social power she enjoyed through this 
post had been so sweet to her soul. ‘‘ But then,” 
she was constrained to think philosophically, “ if they 
were to be reduced to poverty through staying, per- 


A FIERY SWORD. 


320 

haps it would be better after all to go. She couldna 
bear to hae all the folk she had queened it over for 
so long looking down upon her.” And she resolved 
that at their next meeting she would drop a hint 
of their leaving “ juist to see the effect it would hae 
upon them a’ ! ” 

And so when they had assembled once more for 
“ sweet charity’s sake ” in her large sitting room, over- 
looking the Tennessee, she broached the subject. 

“ Oh, that will be perfectly delightful! ” exclaimed 
Mayme, when she heard her remarks. “ It will be 
such a splendid thing for Cousin Fidelia to have you 
and Mr. Allerton with her again. I know she misses 
him — you both, so much, from the way she writes. 
She has been very lonely and sad all summer. She 
says the Baldwins have been perfectly lovely to her, 
but that Mr. Baldwin nor any one for that matter, 
can ever take Mr. Allerton’s place in her mind. She 
is so grateful! dear Cousin Fidelia — I hope she will 
be happier in the future. Cousin Bertie’s death was 
such a blow to her.” Mayme rattled on in her 
thoughtless, inconsequential way, heedless of the looks 
of those about her or the growing storm within Mrs. 
Allerton’s breast. 

Mayme’s remarks had aroused a storm of half-jeal- 
ous indignation in Mrs. Allerton’s heart, which she 
tried hard to suppress, but her face blazed with anger 
as her feelings got the better of her. She looked 
up ready to blurt out with indifference to its reception 
hef thoughts on the subject, but as she raised her 


A FIERY SWORD. 


321 


head her eyes caught a swift glance from one to 
another that betokened something understood be- 
tween them and of which she was supposed to be 
ignorant. But alas! she was ignorant no longer. 
Deep down in her heart had long been the vague 
suspicion that possibly the fact of Mrs. Griscom’s 
making New York her home had something to do 
with her husband’s wishing to remove to that city. 
But she had ever kept such thoughts loyally under 
control. Self-centered and proud as she was, she 
had refused to admit even in the inmost depths of 
her mind, the thought that any other woman could 
exercise greater attractions for her husband than she 
herself felt capable of doing. 

“Oh, indeed!” 

She gave vent to this brief exclamation with con- 
siderable asperity of tone. “ She may dree her 
weird,” she thought. “ Had she but kept at hame, 
she would hae naething to reproach herself with ; ” 
was what she wanted to say, but forewarned by the 
eager look upon the faces about her, she kept her 
own counsel upon the subject, merely saying aloud 
when she had sufficiently cooled down to answer 
civilly: 

“ Of course there is nothing settled as yet about 
where we will locate — wherever Mr. Allerton’s best 
interests lead him, of course!” 

The protestations of regret and the remonstrances 
of those present against losing her from their midst 
made up for much of the bitterness that Mayme’s 


A FIERY SWORD. 


322 

speech had aroused within her mind. And as one 
after another exclaimed with evident sincerity : “ Oh, 
how can we spare you, dear Mrs. Allerton! What 
will the Society do without you? What will the 
church do without you? We simply cannot let you 
go ! ” her feelings over Mayme’s suggestion, that their 
going meant that Mrs. Griscom and her husband 
could once more take up the loosened thread of their 
intimate friendly relations, were considerably mollified. 

But the thought had taken root. And she de- 
termined to frustrate any such outcome if it lay with- 
in her power. Consequently when Allerton again 
broached the subject of making New York their fu- 
ture home he found her very adverse to such a propo- 
sition. 

She remonstrated and entreated by turns. She 
was not given to the small subterfuges of women in 
gaining their points, and was only reduced to tears 
over the subject when she found that words were 
ineffectual. But not for worlds would she have re- 
vealed the fact that she feared the outcome of his 
future association with Fidelia Griscom, or that she 
was in any way apprehensive of his interest in her. 

Perhaps it would have been wiser to have done 
so! The open expression of her mind at this time 
might have changed the whole current of their after 
lives. But a certain self-pride checked its utterance. 
And thus many a woman, silently, and, through the 
mistaken notion that where ignorance is bliss ’tis 
folly to be wise,” encourages her husband in his folly. 


A FIERY SWORD. 323 

and but sacrifices her future happiness to a feigned 
ignorance of the present. 

But Mayme’s thoughtless remarks on that fateful 
afternoon had cut Mrs. Allerton to the heart. And 
now that her suspicions had been fully aroused by 
her all unconsciously implied suggestion, a long vista 
of the past suddenly opened up before her; and many 
things which had been trivial and unimportant of 
themselves, many things hitherto meaningless, many 
things long since forgotten, were now recalled and 
became pregnant with significance. 

And as her thoughts searched the past, a flash 
of memory brought back with renewed dread that 
sunny afternoon some months agone when she had, 
either in fancy or in truth, — ^the mystery was yet un- 
solved — heard that fitful sighing sound within the 
room, which like some uncanny music had filled her 
ears and yet seemed so far away. 

Might it not have foretold the doom of love and 
happiness? A deeper blight than that connected 
with the old legend: that of Death. 


324 


A FIERY SWORD. 


CHAPTER XXVL 

“O, that a man might know 
The end of this day’s business, ere it come! 

But it sufficeth that the day will end, 

And then the end is known.” 

“Oh, could we lift the future’s sable shroud.” 

It was late in October, Fidelia had taken a little 
apartment overlooking Madison Square, on her re- 
turn to the city, so that she would once more have 
her household gods about her. The rooms were 
small but she had not to stint herself in their furnish- 
ings, and everywhere she had exercised taste and ar- 
tistic perceptions in her purchases. She had 
sent for Dinah soon after installing herself, 
and now that worthy soul looked after her mistress’ 
welfare with all the zeal of a faithful heart; evincing 
so much pride in the rich furnishings of her new 
home, that Fidelia found her remarks on the “ city 
improvements ” it contained quite diverting. 

Fidelia had arranged as a study the little alcove 
adjoining her sitting room — her own particular cozy 
corner,” as she had called it. Here amidst a few Bag- 
dad hangings she had placed her desk, her books, 
a few pictures she loved, and an easy chair or two, 
while a small table and a study-lamp stood at the 


A FIERY SWORD. 


325 


head of a comfortable couch, whereon she was wont 
to fling herself when aweary. When the nights 
seemed long and sleep fled from her eyes she would 
come here to while away an hour or two with her 
books. These furnishings, simple though they were, 
with her books and the picture or two she loved upon 
the green tapestried walls, made this room, 
her sanctum sanctorurn, preferable to all the other 
rooms in the house. 

She sat at her desk, upon which always stood a 
tall, slender green vase filled with flowers — this 
morning the rich, spicy perfume of carnations filled 
the room — the sunlight streaming in through the 
window, which she had thrown open to admit the 
pure, fresh air from the park within her rooms, try- 
ing to jot down in skeleton form a little character 
sketch which she thought could be utilized in some 
future play. Dinah entered with some letters. One 
she held out conspicuously from the rest as she laid 
them down upon the desk in front of her mistress. 
Dinah could not read but she had an acuteness of 
intelligence which stood her in good stead of this ac- 
complishment, and her remarks betrayed the close 
scrutiny she had given to each letter before bringing 
them in, as she said with good-natured curiosity: 

“ I reckons dis heah lettah from down Souf am 
of mo’ account dan all dey res’ don’ put togeddah. 
Miss Delie!” handing out the one she had singled 
out from the others as worthy of special notice. She 
had grown to know the letters that came from her 


A FIERY SWORD. 


326 

old home by the peculiar postmark they bore, and 
her home-sick heart never failed of interest in the 
welfare of those she had left behind. 

“ I jes ud lak to know if dey alls well befo’ I goes 
back dar to ma HI’ kitchen?” she pleaded as her ex- 
cuse for lingering. 

“Yes; — ^\^es! — all well — my good Dinah!” ex- 
claimed Fidelia, almost impatiently, without a glance 
towards the expectant face before her. But as her 
words contained no further excuse for remaining, Di- 
nah smiled her satisfaction and left the room. 

Fidelia finished reading her letter and with a hap- 
py light on her face went over to the window. There 
arose from the park the strains of music from a street- 
piano. She looked out, tossed a coin or two down 
with a smile to a happy-faced young Italian woman 
who looked up and courtesied frequently, whilst her 
husband, a handsome, stalwart young fellow, massa- 
cred that sweet song of Grieg’s — “ I Love Thee ” — 
upon his jangling instrument. What mattered if 
the instrument was out of tune? “ All the world 
seems happy this morning,” she thought, as she gazed 
down upon the street. Across in the park the trees 
were beginning to look bare, though most of them 
still had a faithful leaf or two, loth to let go. Early 
as it was, there were a few bright-faced happy chil- 
dren playing with their nursemaids beneath the 
trees, while now and then one of these forsook her 
small charge to exchange some coquettish word or 


' A FIERY SWORD. 327 

look with the blue-coated attendant. Yes, all the 
world was happy! 

Allerton wrote : “ Have you thought about our 
meeting? I think of it night and day. Oh, what 
happiness ! I am working hard to wind up my busi- 
ness here that soon the same city shall once more 
hold us both — and shall it not forever? ” 

There was a happy smile upon her countenance 
as she read these lines over and over again, but all 
the while an indefinable feeling of sadness was creep- 
ing into her heart. Ah, the happiness of those who 
truly love each other! she sighed aloud. “ But, dear 
Gordon, if you only knew that your coming will make 
it all the harder for us both! At the gateway of 
Paradise we must ever stand like the Peri, — with sad- 
dened eyes and longing for the happiness within, 
which we can never attain upon this earth.” 

Allerton’s letters had been of great comfort to her 
during the past sad months. He had until now been 
considerate enough to keep his own love and feelings 
for her in the background, while being most solicit- 
ous for her happiness. But nothing could really 
bring her true happiness now, she thought. She 
loved him; but under the existing conditions what 
was there in their love for each other — ^what could 
there ever be? What but infinite sorrow for both? She 
was happy in the thought of his coming to New York, 
but his very presence would only make the more 
fiery, the more unbearable, the torment of this con- 
tinual repression of their feelings towards each Other. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


328 

Now he wrote that he expected to be with her on 
the opening night of her play. She expected much 
from this premiere performance in the city, which 
had been so long delayed. Gilbert’s death had upset 
all their ^lans. The play having been suddenly 
withdrawn from the stage, and their short Spring en- 
gagement cancelled. Now, some one else was to take 
the role she had aspired to fill before a metropolitan 
audience. Ah, well! It was better so, no doubt. 
She could join the company later if she so desired. 

But she wished Allerton were not coming. It 
would have been far better for them to have separat- 
ed forever. What joy could there be in being to- 
gether? There could always but be the thought, up- 
permost in both their minds, that they were wronging 
another — his wife and children. Could he give them 
a husband’s — a father’s love and care, when his whole 
heart and soul was absorbed in his love for her? 
And now since Gilbert’s death this feeling of wrong 
to them had grown preternaturally acute. Should 
she yet write and beg him to remain where he was, or 
to go somewhere else? The world was wide. Wide 
enough for both never to meet again if they were 
careful of their going and coming. No; it was too 
late to write now, since he had said that he would 
be with her on the opening night of her play; and 
that was only a few nights off now. 

Oh,” she cried vaguely, as the words of the 
Psalmist repeated themselves to her mind, “ Whither 
shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from 


A FIERY SWORD 


329 


thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art 
there; If I make my bed in hell, behold thou art 
there ” 

She remembered that he had sometime ago given 
the hint in one of his letters that he would like to 
join her, and that only for his business he saw no 
reason for not coming with his family to New York. 
But she had not at the time given these vague sug- 
gestions any thought, since she had believed it almost 
impossible for him to carry out such a wish — his bus- 
iness interests, all his future lay in the South, and she 
had only looked forward to seeing him again when 
she should go perhaps to pay Mayme a visit in her 
new home. 

But it was too late now to suggest a change in 
his plans. 

“ Ah, well ! ” she thought with a touch of bitter- 
ness, “‘sufficient unto the day be th. evil thereof!' 
Why should I consume myself longer with needless 
anxiety for the future? It is Fate.” 

And she lifted the letter to her lips and kissed the 
dear familiar writing. 

It was the night of the play. Fidelia sat in a box 
with Archibald Clavering Baldwin and his wife, keenly 
alive to its potentialities for success or failure. As 
she cast her eyes over the theater, crowded with fash- 
ionable “first nighters,” she wondered to herself: 
“ Will they receive it with enthusiasm or with chill 
indifference. She even glanced towards the upper 


330 


A FIERY SWORD. 


balconies wondering whether it would please them or 
not. To be a success it must please both classes of 
her audience. It was not written for the gallery, 
but she wanted it to please every one. There was 
an eastern splendor and brilliance of coloring in its 
staging that made the play all the more charming. 
While in the plot, “ beauty, mystery, passion and im- 
agination were so perfectly and indivisibly blended, 
and the language, characters and situations so mutual- 
ly balanced and conjoined ” that it was considered 
as near to perfection as any play that had ever been 
penned. Every nerve was keyed to its highest ten- 
sion as she sat there breathlessly awaiting some ex- 
pression of the manner of its reception. Her face 
utterly colorless, save for the scarlet of her lips, and 
the two brilliant crimson spots of suppressed excite- 
ment, burning beneath her glorious brown eyes, scin- 
tillating like the facets of a many-cut diamond. As 
they neared the end of the first act, she clasped her 
hands convulsively together, and waited, waited — 
her eyes dry and burning with excitement, her whole 
body rigid with intense stillness. The curtain fell 
amidst a storm of applause. 

^^Ah!” she breathed, as she leaned back more 
comfortably in her chair. 

This generous, joyous explosion of their appre- 
ciation was of unutterable relief to her taut nerves. 
And when at the end of the second act there was a 
cry from some on in the audience for “ The Author! ” 
the call was taken up and from every part of the 


A FIERY SWORD. 


331 


house came the cries, “ The Author! The Author! ” 
louder and louder, until the audience had shrieked 
itself almost hoarse. Baldwin leaned over and 
whispered to her that she would have to show herself 
anyway, and when she arose in the box, it was as 
if the whole house had gone mad. Shaking with 
fright, laughing, trembling, and in tears, she allowed 
Baldwin to lead her upon the stage. She could only 
look at her audience with wide-open eyes swimming 
with emotion, as she bowed again and again to their 
plaudits. Somebody shouted out “Speech! A 
Speech!,” and she felt faint as Baldwin urged her to 
say something to them. Bowing again and again, 
she finally responded in faint, quavering tones : 
“ Thank you — thank you ; my friends. I am so hap- 
py — glad — that you like the play.” Her words al- 
most died away upon her lips, so shaken was she 
with emotion, as she bowed again and again her grat- 
itude. Baldwin led her away, half-fainting, half- 
hysterical with happy emotion and excitement. 

“ Oh,” she thought, as she resumed her seat, “ if 
Gordon had only arrived in time for this ! ” She had 
searched the audience time and again with her glass, 
but no where could be seen the eager, happy face 
she so longed for. That he had not reached the city 
in time she knew, else why had he not made known 
his presence in some way. He surely would have 
come to her between the acts. He must have been 
detained — possibly delayed on the way! She hoped 
it was nothing serious. And her heart beat the 


332 A FIERY SWORD. 

slower at the thought And then as the curtain 
arose upon the last act she turned her excited atten- 
tion again to the stage. Baldwin had whispered that 
the leading part had not even come up to her own 
interpretation of it in the spring, and this praise had 
been so gratifying, it decided her all the more about 
accepting the offer she had had from a London man- 
ager earlier in the season. Should she go to Lon- 
don she would then resume the part herself again. 

They held quite a levee upon the stage afterwards, 
many of their friends and the entire company coming 
forward to add their congratulations, as well as to 
receive her praise, which she gave with unstinted 
measure, for the way in which they had each and 
every one contributed their share towards the suc- 
cess of the performance. 

Mrs. Baldwin kissed her a warm, good night, and 
Baldwin pressed her hand closely and affectionately 
as they put her in a hansom, before taking their own 
carriage home. Baldwin wanted her to come with 
them to the Palm Garden where he would open some 
wine in honor of her success, but she declined, feel- 
ing nervous over Allerton’s non-arrival, and longing 
to get home to see if there had not come some word 
of explanation from him. 

As she drove through the streets, she could hear 
above the roar of cable cars and elevated trains the 
voices of the newsboys with their evening extras. 
And as her cab drew up before her own door, she 


A FIERY SWORD. 333 

could hear the hoarse cries coming nearer within her 
own street. 

Wextra! Wextra! All about the terrible col- 
lision! Fif — dead — hundreds wound — ” ; the roar of 
the voices coming nearer was now like the roar of 
the waves in a storm, no longer were the words ar- 
ticulate. She paled with fright and her heart grew 
cold and pulseless as she caught a word here and 
there. “ Was he — were they all — was this why he 
had not come? No — no! such a thing could not be,’^ 
and she caught her breath with a forlorn hope of 
finding some message within doors explaining his 
delayed arrival. 

A little fellow ran past her as she descended: 
“Extra, lady? All about the collision!” he cried, 
scarcely awaiting her reply, so eager was he to over- 
take another prospective buyer just beyond her. 

There would doubtless be a telegram awaiting 
her, she assured herself bravely, but she would take 
a paper anyway, and she trembled with chill forebod- 
ing as she searched for her purse. 

“ Here, boy ! ” she cried, in sharply metallic tones, 
handing out a dollar. 

The boy looked at the bill and then at her: “ I 
ain’t got no change for this. Lady? ” 

“Keep it; keep it!” she cried impatiently, as she 
snatched the paper held out to her and darted up the 
steps. 

“ Who — ee ! ” exclaimed the boy as his eyes fol- 
lowed her retreating form. “ She’s a rum un! I’ll 


334 


A FIERY SWORD. 


bet;” as he pocketed the bill in his delight and rush- 
ed off shouting: “ Wextra! Wex — tra! All about 
the terrible collision. Hundreds — ! ” 

But Fidelia heard no more. She could scarcely 
wait until she reached the privacy of her own apart- 
ments to read the account. Her eyes eagerly scan- 
ned the brief announcement. The accident had oc- 
cured late in the afternoon at a lonely spot along the 
line, miles from any telegraphic communication. Oh, 
the horrors of it! as she read on fascinated. The 
wrecked cars had caught fire almost immediately af- 
ter the collision between the two trains, and those 
passengers not already killed were in danger of being 
burned to death, — with their bodies pinioned down, 
unable to extricate themselves, the flames preventing 
their release by others. She took in all the horrible 
details with a glance, and then amidst a long list of 
the dead and wounded she read the names of the 
Allerton family — the names she was hoping and pray- 
ing not to read. 

“ Oh, God ! ” she moaned with one long drawn 
out, hopeless cry of anguish. “ All dead — ? It can- 
not — cannot — be possible — ! ” 

She raised her hands to her forehead, and pressed 
them down tightly over her eyes in a vain effort to 
shut out the sight that her keen, subjective sense por- 
trayed so vividly to her imagination. She could 
almost see the scene transpiring so far away — ^the 
semi-darkness, illumined only by the lurid glare from 
the burning wreckage, revealing the unhappy victims 


A FIERY SWORD. 


335 


writhing in death-agony, struggling to be released 
from the flames. She dropped down helplessly upon 
her knees and tried to pray. “ Oh, God! spare them 
— spare them such torture I ” she implored wildly. 
But her soul was too agitated to find soothing in what 
seemed to her, in her agonized state of mind, a mean- 
ingless occupation. She felt that she but called upon 
God in vain. What power could stay a disaster that 
was already a shrieking fact. Outside in the streets 
below her windows were not the newsboys now 
shrieking out the news with fiendish glee over the 
impetus it gave to their sales. She knelt deprecating- 
ly with hands outstretched and eyes raised to Heaven ; 
with but little comfort in her attitude of supplication. 
Her crushed heart felt numbed and sick. She could 
neither pray nor weep; tears would have soothed her 
parched eyelids, as some holy thought would have 
soothed the anguish of her soul. She felt that both 
were inexorably denied her. The vengeance of 
an offended God has surely but swiftly overtaken 
me — and in the hour of my greatest triumph!” she 
cried aloud as she prostrated herself upon the floor. 
“ All! — all dead! ” she sobbed wildly. “ But for me 
they would not have been on that train — but for me 
they would now be alive — oh, Gordon — Gordon! 
And but for me ” — she cried — as her thoughts rapid- 
ly reviewed the past few months — “ Bertie would even 
yet be living. I killed him! I have killed them all! 
Oh merciful God — ! Strike me down also!” she 
screamed hysterically. “ Why should I live to en- 


336 A FIERY SWORD. 

dure the knowledge of having been the death of all 
of those most dear to me? Send out from those clear, 
cold, starlit skies a bolt of thy wrath to consume 
me! ” 

Her agonizing cries brought Dinah flying wildly 
from her bed. “ Fo’ de Lawd! Miss Delie — chile — 
what hab happened?” she gasped as she saw. her mis- 
tress grovelling upon the floor. “ What hab don’ 
happen, Miss Delie — honey?” she asked again and 
again in excited tones as she raised her to her feet 
and led her to a seat. 

Fidelia related in brief — disjointed sentences, what 
had occurred; and the tears streamed down the poor 
old black face, mingling with the tearless sobs of her 
mistress, as she tried to comfort her with the hope 
of hearing something more from them in the morn- 
ing. “ It am a mos’ terrible disastrophy — mos’ terri- 
ble;” she vouchsafed in sympathy — “but we must 
’member dat de darkest night am always just befo’ 
dawn. Deys sho’ly cain’t all be dead!” she cried — 
“ Yo’ must jes’ trust in de Lawd, honey. He don’ 
tole us put our trust in Him. He will repay.” 

“ Oh — ! ” sobbed Fidelia, with streaming eyes as 
the homely but heartfelt expression of the other’s 
words touched her heart and unsealed the fountain of 
her tears. “ My good Dinah ; ” she cried as she put 
out her hand and drew the black, tear-wet face down 
to her own. Dinah’s arms enfolded her mistress 
while she sobbed out her grief upon her bosom. Fi- 
nally when utterly exhausted and overcome by its 


A FIERY SWORD. 


337 


violence, Dinah persuaded her to go to bed, prom- 
ising to bring her the morning papers with daybreak. 
She laid there awhile almost in a comatose state, 
and then as a realization of her loss again forced it- 
self upon her, she arose and paced the floor madly, 
going to the window many times to stare out, almost 
unconscious of her actions, upon the impenetrable 
darkness. She flung her window open once or twice 
that the cold night air might fan her cheeks with its 
icy breath. Then shivering with the cold and terror 
she sought her bed again, but every sough of the 
wintry winds seemed pregnant with the fearful in- 
telligence. 

She awoke with a start, hardly conscious of the 
fact that she had been sleeping, as Dinah entered the 
room with the morning papers and a telegram. 
“ Heah’s de good news fo’ you; — didn’t I don’ tole 
you, honey! ” she exclaimed joyfully. 

Give it to me, quick!” cried Fidelia, as she 
snatched it from her hand and tore it open, her face 
paling with renewed fears. “ Thank God,” she cried 
as her eyes caught the signature, and then bursting 
into tears as she read on : ‘ Donald living, the others 
dead.’ Oh Father, I thank Thee for even so much 
of Thy Mercy!” she prayed with streaming eyes. 
Burying her face amongst the pillows, she lay there 
motionless, whilst her thoughts reviewed the horrors 
of that long night of hopeless despair and the joy 
that had come with the morning. But the thought 
of Allerton and his anguish was ever present in her 


A FIERY SWORD. 


338 

mind; and her guilty love for him who had lost so 
much and through her was completely swallowed up 
in her pity for the sorrow of the man. Until this 
accident she had hardly considered the wrong she 
was doing not only to herself and him in yielding to 
their passionate love for each other but to his wife 
and children. She blamed herself for not being 
stronger; for not having unequivocally forbidden him 
to follow her to New York — but the fruit was too 
sweet, she had not resisted it — like Eve of old — and 
when he asked her to share it with him, like Eve 
she could not refuse. And now this was the result. 
But for her his family would not have been on that 
ill-fated train — but for her both he and they would 
have remained contentedly happy in their far away 
home in the sunny South. Her heart was torn with 
the fierce conflict of counter emotions. 

One thought, more bitter than all the others, forced 
itself upon her, for through it, would not she, who was 
indirectly responsible for this appalling tragedy, 
eventually realize her dreams of a satisfied love.” 
“ Had not this accident left him free — free! to hence- 
forth be happy in their love, without sin; without 
shame?” As she realized the import of these unholy 
thoughts within this hour of Death, the awfulness 
of what she contemplated — she stood self-abased be- 
fore God and her own Conscience. 

And when later there came another telegram an- 
nouncing Allerton’s arrival, she felt that this was the 
beginning of her punishment — the beginning of her 


A FIERY SWORD. 


339 


atonement: that she could not go to him and out of 
the plentitude of her full heart comfort him with her 
love and sympathy; that between them there now 
lay an impassable gulf — the graves of their lost ones — 
which no atonement could ever bridge. She longed 
to write some word of sympathy, send some token 
of her grief — but could she do even this? Would 
not such words coming from her seem a mockery? 
false and unreal, insincere. Yet God knows she was 
sincere. 

She sent a few lines which she felt could but seem 
cold and heartless. No word of her love or sym- 
pathy could she bring herself to pen. “ This aw- 
ful thing that has happened stays my hand when I 
would write ; stays my feet when I would go to you ; ” 
was all she wrote, was all she could write. Words 
of condolence would savor of hypocrisy. 

However, it was with a measure of relief that Al- 
lerton received these few words. He was pale and 
anxious with his own long suffering and loss, and 
his anxiety had been accentuated by the thought of 
what she must be suffering as well. He too felt that 
he could not take her hand and look into her eyes as 
of old. No! — No! Would he ever be able to 
again ? 

Truly my sin has found me out!” he cried; and 
when a strong man weeps even the angels forbear to 
witness his sufferings. He reproached himself for 
his mad infatuation for another; to whom might be 
attributed though in ever so vague a way his loss. 


340 


A FIERY SWORD. 


Oh! that he had but yielded to the pleadings of his 
wife; and but that the woman he loved was in New 
York he would have done so. “ ‘ The wages of sin 
is death,’ I know,” he thought bitterly; “ but why take 
the innocent and leave the guilty — to suffer a life- 
time of the tortures of the damned. Oh! what a 
vengeance had He taken who says ‘ I will repay.’ ” 

He was too weak, too upset with it all to th^pk. 
The terrible disaster that had befallen him was yet too 
fresh in his mind for him to even glance into the 
future. Thus in his heart as in hers. Remorse had 
set herself relentlessly at work to tear down the 
structure Love had builded. 

And when they met again, each felt looking into 
the other’s soul that henceforth they must each walk 
their different ways. The happiness they might 
have attained was now made impossible by this gulf 
stretching away between them, in which lay buried 
her husband and his own loved ones — whose memo- 
ries seemed to cry out against his ever taking the 
woman he loved to his breast. 

This mutual resolve made them dumb, and as 
they sat sorrowful, the pain of renunciation in their 
faces, the agony of repentence within their hearts, 
mutely silent, contemplating the only atonement 
granted their broken lives — separation, Fidelia felt 
the tears rise many times to her eyes, but each time 
she choked them back bravely — for tears meant weak- 
ness, and for the future a weakness she must not 
yield to. 


A FIERY SWORD. 


341 


“ Dear heart! ” she smiled sadly, hopelessly, “ it 
is the flaming sword, turning ever this way and that, 
to keep us apart. Good bye, dear heart, good bye I ” 

As they stood thus clasping each other’s hands, 
to Allerton looking into her dear face — nobler and 
dearer still for its high resolve — with eyes blinded 
with tears, there came the thought that some day — 
when the sound of those voices that yet rang 
in his ears with their death cries were stilled; some 
day when Time had dulled the poignancy of his re- 
morse — some day they might burst the self-imposed 
barriers and let their pent-up love flow down its 
natural channel. 

Ah! that “ some day! ” that has in it every poten- 
tiality for pain and happin-‘ss — was but a transient 
balm to sooth their troubled souls. Both felt that 
never again in this world could they be other than 
strangers carrying with them a burden of pain and 
love. They could not trust themselves to meet again. 

Perhaps above — in the infiniteness of Eternity — 
this pain would grow less, and they could then meet 
and clasp hands across the gulf of their buried hope — 
forgiven for a sin that had engulfed so many hearts 
and forms — 

He who holds our future “ in the hollow of His 
palm ” looked on. 

Who is to know His will ? 


THE END. 




,v / 






